In Imladris He Dwells
by Lou-deadfroggy
Summary: Glorfindel was returned with a purpose: to prepare the way for someone else. The Valar gave him great gifts to help him and the directions to one who would share this burden. No name, just a line to help him find them: in Imladris he dwells.
1. Chapter 1

**In Imladris He Dwells**

**Chapter One**

He awoke. That in itself was somewhat new. He could not describe it and hope to do it justice, what he had felt. The floating sensation, the emptiness, the loss of anything to ground him to the earth. When it had started he could not remember, only that now it was over and he felt something encasing him. For the first time his dreams became solid, clearer and there was a darkness he recognised. It lifted as he made something move, his eyes opened. His body, he remembered now, reacted slowly as he stirred, moving around clumsily.

"Be gentle in thy movements," a voice told him. Beautiful it was, the first sound he heard. He saw his body, lying beneath the blanket, saw his arms and hands move to push his torso up. Golden hair spilled around his face, tickling his cheeks and obstructing his vision. For a moment he marvelled at the feeling of his limbs, his face and his whole body, staring at it in wonder before turning his attention to the world around him. Solid, when all he had experienced for so long was hazy and insubstantial, a bed that was soft and firm beneath him, grey walls of stone covered in tapestries that bore every colour he could name. By the door, sat a figure.

"Dost thou know thy name?" she asked him, letting him hear something beside the sound of his own breathing. For a moment he listened only to his lungs, then realised that she made no sound except for speaking. He thought it over, searching back, when the world had been solid also.

"Glorfindel," he said, trying out his voice that he remembered hearing dimly. It sounded different now, deeper and with a tone that he could not quite name.

"What else dost thou remember?" He closed his eyes and pushed back the mist. Images he remembered, faces flashed behind his eyes. Then falling through heat and flame, turning back one last time to look before darkness and searing fire. He sucked in his breath, unable to control his hands as they shook.

"The fire," he answered. Her face, he deemed it beautiful, darkened in an expression he had seen before: sorrow. He watched her and did not recognise her from what he remembered. She was too perfect in her beauty, carved by a master and radiating a brilliance that although hidden shone through her being.

"I am Vairë. Stand, if thou canst." The name meant something to him and he looked at her in awe. "Stand, Glorfindel." Slowly, his limbs uncooperative, he pushed himself out of bed and made to stand. Someone had clothed him and the light tunic scratched at his skin, more sensitive than he thought it should be. He stood, without any grace and the world span around him. The Valier Queen stood beside him, her hand outstretched. "Come with me. Look not to either side on our path, only ahead. If thou doth let thy eyes wander, thou shalt see things that thou canst not have and thou shalt be lost. Come." Glorfindel took the hand, a gentle warmth passing through him unlike the heat he remembered.

Walking was slow, he could not remember how to do such a simple thing. Vairë guided him onward and step by step it returned to him. Through the halls she led him and always he looked ahead at the corridor down which they walked. Either side was covered in tapestries but he did not examine them. When they came to an intersection Vairë stopped, only for a moment and he heard voices, music and singing. He wanted to turn, to see from whence it came for it seemed he knew the words, from long ago and he remembered singing the same tune as he walked through the cold and the snow. With great difficulty he took another step and they were past the other corridor, coming to a set of great wooden doors carved with shapes he did not recognise.

The doors opened before them, letting not only the first sunlight he had seen but also a sense of presence where before had not felt one. Vairë appeared beside him in all her glory and power, a thousand times greater than she had been as they walked along. His mind knew who was before him in the chamber, seated in a circle. His stiff back bowed low before the Valar and he did not dare look up at them.

"Námo, let us hear thy judgement upon him now." Glorfindel knew the voice, though he had not heard it before. Manwë had not spoken to the Noldor, only through a herald. The majesty and might of the King of Arda could not be mistaken.

"He is pure of heart and soul, of the exile he wanted no part and of the sins he has had no hand." Not since the Doom was foretold had Glorfindel heard the voice of Námo, Mandos the Lord of the Dead and he did not understand what was happening around him. On no accounts had he heard that the deceased, for he knew then that the fire had claimed his life, were judged by all the Valar together in such a way. "Should another be chosen, I shall release him now for those reasons alone."

"He was bold in life," declared Tulkas. "And in death. I say he fits our purpose well. Let him go forth." There was a silence then and Glorfindel felt fear mix with his awe and confusion. It had been but a moment ago he was dreaming of colours and mists that he could not perceive in reality.

"Rise, Glorfindel of Gondolin," said Manwë. Keeping his eyes downcast out of reverence, he straightened up. "Yes, thou shalt go forth to perform this task. What say thou to this?" Carefully, Glorfindel chose his words to ask the questions he did not dare speak directly to the lords of Arda.

"I know not this purpose of which you speak," he answered. "Yet readily I shall do your biding, whatever it may be if you deem me worthy." It seemed to him that they laughed at that, a sort of joyful doting laugh and he looked down in shame at having spoken out.

"Be not ashamed at thy weakness. We shall give thee strength," said Manwë. The form that Glorfindel saw was Mandos came forward, Vairë at his side.

"Thy body we do return thee to, in strength far greater than thou hast before."

"Prowess in arms," Tulkas added. "That shall be my gift to thee. To help thee in this task. Few shall match thee lest they learn from thy own hands. In the wide lands we return thee to, though it grieves us, thou wilt make use of this." Then forth came Tulkas, tall and strong and he held out a sword to Glorfindel. He stared at it and for a moment did not dare take it. His questions were unanswered, what task it was the great of the world had set before him he did not know. His hand however reached out for the blade, marvelling at it. Gold lined the hilt and a reddish gold was the metal when he drew it from its scabbard. It was not his old sword that had fallen with him in Gondolin, it was longer and more perfectly balanced in ways he had never noticed his own sword lacked. It bore the mark of Aulë that he had not seen since his childhood in Tirion.

"Proud art thou, of thy House that thou hast led," said Yavanna. "Not the pride of Fëanor or his sons, but one we share in that which we have made. Take this seed, that thy house may grow and be remembered." In his hand she placed a single flower seed. "With fountain water it shall grow."

"Haste, my friends," called Manwë from his seat. "The hour grows late in Middle Earth and we cannot tarry." Irmo, Lórien they named him and three Valier: Nienna, Vána and Estë each smiled at Glorfindel in turn.

"The desires thou had in life are returned to thee, that they may help and guide thee forwards in the shadows," Irmo told him. "Mercy, gentleness and the joy of the young thou shalt have too."

"The stars shall guide thee, there is a ship to take thee hence and there thou shalt find my gift," said Oromë. "For thou shalt not walk Middle Earth alone."

"Thy task then." Manwë stood, coming closer to the elf who bowed again, his sword belted at his waist and the seed clasped in his hand. "Thou shalt prepare the way. For what I do not know for that is hidden even from me. One must be sent to join he who is already there and will aid thee in this task." Who? Glorfindel wondered. "I have no name to give thee, but in Imladris he dwells. Go now hence, and may all our blessings go with thee on this road for it is perilous and thou shalt face grief the likes of which thou canst not know yet." Again Vairë stepped forward and too his hand to lead him away.

"Wait!" came one last voice as the doors began to close behind them. Nessa, the least of the Valar but to Glorfindel's eyes just as fair and powerful as he had been blinded by majesty all at once, ran out to join them. "This gift is not for thee, though it shall bring thee joy in the darkness. It is a gift thou shalt pass on." She smiled and left with no other words, passing into the expanse of the halls around them. The presence Glorfindel had felt was gone, left only with the shade of Vairë who stood beside him.

"Come," she said again.

"My lady, may I look?" Glorfindel dared ask at last. He wanted to see a familiar face, for he remembered those he knew were gone before him. Ecthelion in the fountain, Turgon in the tower and somewhere, his brother and sister in the fires that had claimed their city.

"No friend shalt thou see. Look, if thou must." He did as she led him down the hallways but no music did he hear this time and he knew it had been a test she set him. He smiled to himself, realising he had passed. The hallway ended abruptly at a small plain door. "Go, the stars shall watch over thee."

Glorfindel opened the door onto a quay, empty and silent in the breeze. One ship rocked on the shallow waves, knocking against the dock. He climbed aboard to find no other soul there, no captain or shipmate. Below he heard a noise and found the stairs.

"Suilaid," he said to the horse that stood in the stall. "Greetings and well met, my friend." The beast nuzzled at his hand eagerly as he stroked its head. "Asfaloth, how do you suppose we sail this ship, you and I?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is a rewrite, starting much earlier and hopefully it will be much better than the original story. **

**Chapter Two**

Asfaloth made a good companion in the ship. Glorfindel spent the days on deck reacquainting himself with his body, using the sword Aulë had gifted to him. At first he dropped it repeatedly, forgetting how his limbs worked. Slowly it returned to him, little by little as the ship passed over the endless sea. Nothing appeared on the horizon as the days went by, no island or other vessel. The sun rose, he felt strength return to his useless limbs, the sun set and he practiced speaking to Asfaloth, using his voice when for so long he had been silent. The horse never fussed and moved around his wide stall.

"Soon," Glorfindel would promise him daily. Soon the steed would be able to run free, once they reached their destination. Wide lands, Glorfindel remembered, that had been the promise that had drawn his people forth an Age before. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest in Asfaloth's stall, the horse nuzzling his head gently as he spoke of anything that cross his mind.

He had not slept since waking in Mandos, although he felt in need of it he only let himself fall into waking dreams for short bursts before rousing himself as soon as he saw the flames. Those remained etched in his mind, the more he remembered about his life the more vivid his death became. Rebirth had not healed that, and slowly Glorfindel understood why. Finwë had been the first elf to die and never had that been the intention when their race was born. Therefore it could not be healed as their bodies could. Or so it seemed to him in the long hours he spent talking to Asfaloth, never getting more than a muzzle or a whiny in reply. He tried not to let himself think of who he would meet. Ecthelion he knew was dead, Turgon as well. His mother and siblings had not answered him when he called them, they could not have been in the host that fled Gondolin. Idril, he remembered had gotten as far as Eagles' Cleft with Tuor, Eärendil and Egalmoth. What had befallen them afterwards was a mystery to him. One face pained him, etched as the last thing he saw before the flames and darkness rushed past him. He prayed to the Valar, even before he thanked them in his thoughts that the young dark haired elf had walked free from the agony of death.

The ship required no sailing on his part, he would have been lost had it needed manning. Instead a favourable wind bore it forward and the sea carried it without him having to tend to it. He did not linger too long on how it came to pass. He watched the stars some nights, plotting his journey by them. East, always east. His memory of Aman objected, saying that it was impossible for him to have come from the Halls of Mandos to the sea in the east in one step. His lingering awe at those who had greeted him when he woke muffled those queries.

He saw an island, after losing count of the days he had spent aboard the white ship. Glorfindel did not have the knowledge to steer towards it, nor did he want to. He would not pass it by if it was his destination. For three days he could see it to the south and he watched as the single peak on it slowly faded into the distance. It was not Tol Eressëa, and as the days wore on he knew it was no outlying island in Middle Earth.

He counted almost two full turns of the moon before he saw land, more than just an island it stretched out before him and he knew he had the coast in sight. Of the supplies that had laden the ship there was little left, calculated perfectly to get him through the voyage. The headlands glided forward to meet the ship, passing either side of it. It was not the coast of Beleriand, Glorfindel saw at once for he had seen maps drawn of it and nowhere did it resemble the gulf through which he sailed. He watched with foreboding as the shore approached, completely lost as to his whereabouts.

The gulf was long and at times narrow, but crowded. Glorfindel stared at the other ships as they passed, tall graceful white, grey and blue hulls with white sails flying banners he could not recognise. The crews looked back, elves from what he could see but none approached to run alongside until he was close enough to the end of the gulf to see a city of grey stone rise against green hills. By that time Glorfindel's ship was flanked by a blue vessel on each side that flew banners of deep blue and silver vines. They were not those of Ecthelion though Glorfindel almost mistook them for his friend's House at first. He gathered his belongings, the sword and seed that had been gifted to him as well as the clothes that were on board and cleared the lower deck so that Asfaloth could leave his stall once they docked.

"Mae govannen!" an elf on the quay called to him. Glorfindel looked down at the ropes in confusion. The elf continued speaking in what he gradually realised was Sindarin. Glorfindel cursed himself for never learning the Moriquendi tongue as well as he should have. He threw down a rope and hoped for the best. Again the ship appeared to manage itself and with the help of the elf on the dock he was down on dry land at last. After so long at sea his feet tripped on firm footing, the world strangely still around him.

Others had arrived to join the dock hand, Glorfindel did not miss the fact that they were armed.

"Your ship flies no banner, from where do you sail?" the blond Sindar Glorfindel took to be the captain asked.

"From the West."

"Lord Círdan-" Círdan. Glorfindel latched onto the name as the first familiar thing he had come across. The harbour and city were unfamiliar, yet it could be Sirion for all he knew.

"Your name?"

"Glorfindel." Wide eyes met his answer and hastily the Captain bowed. Glorfindel was shocked, no lord of Gondolin except for Turgon would be known in Sirion.

"If you would follow me." Asfaloth nudged him in the back to follow the Captain. Glorfindel was in no doubt that the horse could rival him in intelligence.

"He could use a run," Glorfindel murmured to the dockhand who already had befriended Asfaloth. The Captain led him along the quay towards the tall bridge that spanned the river. Built within and below the bridge was a house, all of grey stone and built with precision so that it did not touch the river until a ramp led down from the huge hull-like body. Glorfindel was led into the wide main room and stared down at the ship mid construction down below. He was left to gaze at it as his guide vanished momentarily.

"Suilaid, greetings traveller. Such a strange ship has not been seen in this harbour before." Glorfindel recognised Círdan at once, although they had never met there were few elves who had the age to wear a beard so long. "I am Círdan, welcome to Mithlond."

"Mithlond? This is not Sirion that flows beneath us?" Surprise crossed the old elf's face followed by a brief sadness.

"No, Sirion flows no more." Círdan did not give him a moment to ponder this over. "The Captain tells me your name is Glorfindel. There has been but one elf by that name and he is dead. Tell me how this can be." Glorfindel sighed, floundering slightly as he searched for the Sindarin words.

"Death I have known, in the mountains above Gondolin. I have no reason why I was chosen to bear this task, yet bear one I do and I was sent here to fulfil it. I cannot offer proof, unless you take the ship as evidence that I am not from Beleriand."

"There is no Beleriand." Glorfindel looked at him in confusion. He stood with Cirdan, Master of the Teleri and Lord of Sirion, yet the old elf was telling him that Beleriand was no more and Sirion itself no longer swept through the land. "Come, I need no more proof than who I see before me. Not in the Noldor of Valinor was there held such power. I shall tell you the sad tale of Beleriand, my Lord, and aid you if I can."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

He lay on the wide bed Círdan had assigned to him, staring up at the ceiling. Wooden beams stretched above him, the bare room illuminated by the moon outside. Every room in the Ship House echoed with the faint whispering of the river underneath and the sea crashing onto the quay.

Lhûn, not Sirion flowed beneath them, coming from an unfamiliar land he had heard of only in myth. Beleriand, the whole land he had lived in was gone, not just his city. The enormity of that crashed down on him with every wave, swallowing him and drowning him a thousand times over. Círdan had spoken for hours, getting graver as he went. It was a sorry tale to be sure and his words chased each other around Glorfindel's head, accompanied by vivid images his imagination supplied. Idril had sailed, her son Eärendil's life was a hero's tale and now his son was lore master in Imladris. The name rang out in his ears. In Imladris he dwells. The son of Eärendil the Mariner, Glorfindel supposed it made sense that he should be sent to help someone of that lineage. Idril's grandson, his own cousin to some degree. It ripped at his chest that he could not see he beautiful little cousin again. He tried not to go down the long list of people Círdan had answered with a sigh when their names were mentioned. Galadriel was now ruler of a fiefdom under a Gil-Galad and Glorfindel wondered how he would be received there after the manner of their parting.

After weeks on board ship, the stillness of his new surroundings and the gently rushing of the Lhûn beneath him lulled him against his will into sleep. He walked along a street, the buildings faint and cloaked in mist. Eventually he reached a fountain, devoid of water. There was a shout and he turned too quickly, falling backwards.

Glorfindel bolted upright, the sheets tangled around him and drenched in sweat. He rubbed his neck as he felt his spine split again. It was vivid, too vivid and he had to force his lungs to suck in air to stop the shaking. The briefest moment before his death stretched out in his dreams, every sensation elongating itself. It did not need to be any more intense, he just remembered the actual impact being shorter. The fall had lasted an eternity.

There was no prospect of him going back to sleep after that. He slipped out of the Ship House, meaning to see Asfaloth if he could find the stables in the foreign grey city. With no sense of direction he ended up following the first street away from the sea that he came across. He wandered through the empty streets, making his eyes point out every difference to Gondolin to prevent himself from sinking back into the nightmares of his home. He smiled at a blond elf sitting on the window ledge of a house, his legs hanging down into the large bushes beneath.

"Are you lost, my lord?" For a moment Glorfindel scrutinised his face and found no familiar features.

"I am looking for the stables." The elf hopped down over the low wall and into the street.

"This way, my lord." There was an anxious air about him as he showed Glorfindel along the street. "Do you mean to leave us already?"

"Already?" The elf blushed, staring at his feet.

"It was your ship that arrived yesterday with no hands aboard, was it not?"

"Is it not a busy harbour then?" Apart from the initial guard that had seen him in and determined he was no threat, Glorfindel assumed that no one else would see his coming as anything extraordinary.

"We do not receive many western visitors. Ships from Númenor come often, your ship, my lord, is unlike any that has ever entered this harbour." The elf looked away again and Glorfindel realised he was going to have to find a way to stop him blushing soon before the poor creature was permanently red.

"What is your name?"

"Galdor, my lord." Galdor opened the door to the stables to reveal half a hundred horses lined up in their stalls.

"Glorfindel, I have no House now." He found Asfaloth's stall easily, the white horse came over and started nuzzling his shoulder at once.

"Any lord of the west needs no people or lands to be called thusly." Galdor went red again, almost audibly cursing himself at having said too much. Glorfindel smiled at him before turning to Asfaloth. He had not come to stay in Mithlond, he had another destination. One where hopefully someone would speak in a tongue he could follow more easily.

"Do you know Imladris, Galdor?" he asked as he heard the elf step away.

"The hidden valley is east of here. It is two weeks' ride at least. Círdan will show you a map. Do you mean to speak with Lord Elrond? The King keeps his court to the south with Lady Galadriel, news travels fast and they will know of your coming. Glorfindel of Gondolin was of Turgon's kin, perhaps you knew the Lady, my lord?" Galdor continued to speak at a thousand miles an hour for a few moments more, Glorfindel was lost with the accent.

"Would you know one who would be my guide?" A hidden valley. The thought pained him.

"Certainly, my lord. Unless Círdan has plans otherwise, I would show you the road myself- if that is to your liking."

"Hannon le, Galdor." At least he would not spend the hours on the road in silence.

Come morning Círdan had agreed that Galdor would lead him to Imladris, the young elf appeared overjoyed at his lord's decision.

"There are others who speak the tongue of the Noldor, Mithlond is Sindar but Lindon is ruled by Gil-Galad and many of his people are here."

"He seems pleased, I do not want to- inconvenience another." Círdan smiled at that and let them prepare to leave.

Glorfindel walked Asfaloth to the crest of the hill, Galdor and his bay in front of them.

"And now, my friend, we shall see whether riding is a skill I must also relearn." He mounted carefully but Asfaloth was still. Nervously he sat upright and they began to follow Galdor's bay down the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

They passed the first guards a full two days before they reached Imladris. Glorfindel approved of the precautions. The idea of a hidden valley was painful and he rode with a sense of foreboding. To the south lay Eregion, as Galdor repeatedly mentioned, where Galadriel ruled with Celeborn under the High King's banners. He wondered what she would make of his return. They had not spoken for five hundred years before his death, and another dozen centuries had elapsed since then. Artanis, he decided, could wait, he had been ordered to go to Imladris. At least, as far as he was aware since his directions were vague. He had faith in whatever guided him, the military tactician inside him merely wanted the full picture.

The guards let them pass without making their presence known, either recognising Galdor or knowing that two blond elves from the west were no enemies. That was the only thing from Círdan's story that gave him some hope: there was an end, or almost an end to strife between the elves. Among all the grief the Shipwright had retold, there had been some glimmers of hope at least.

Galdor grinned at him as they passed a corner cut deep into the rock.

"Welcome to Imladris," he said quietly. Though only rock surrounded them, Glorfindel could hear the unmistakable roar of a waterfall echoing through the pass. The cliffs fell away and the valley revealed itself. It was beautiful, he gave it that and there was peace in the air, almost tangible. It was not Gondolin. That hit him repeatedly as they rode through down the hill. The valley was small, enclosed and the house, although ornate and quaint, was no city. It was easily defendable, without the obvious second passes that had weakened Gondolin. No army could pass over the mountains to take the House by surprise, which made up for the lack of gates. The guards above on the cliffs were not Ecthelion's, the road was not guarded by the folk of the Fountain. Galdor seemed to take his silence for awe, but it was grief. Imladris was a haven, the very air felt safe, but it was not Gondolin. Glorfindel berated himself for having thought it would be, even with Turgon's great grandson as lord.

They were finally stopped at the bridge, still far from the House itself. Glorfindel let himself marvel at how full of life the valley was, every inch sprouted more plants than he could count. The guard was Noldo, he saw that at once.

"What brings you to Imladris?" the guard asked from within his helmet.

"Lord Círdan has sent us to speak with Lord Elrond," answered Galdor. He produced something Glorfindel could not see and the guard nodded, letting them pass.

"What was that?" Glorfindel asked as they rode on. Galdor held out a tiny gem.

"It came from the Ford, to prove that we passed that way and are friends to the people here." Glorfindel wondered how he could be friends to people he did not know, apart from a distant and long dead kinship to Elrond he had no relations in Middle Earth at all. "Here, my lord." They dismounted in the courtyard, surrounded by the half open arches that formed the wings of the House. Glorfindel wondered how warm it was in winter, for it seemed built for summer and late autumn only. A dark haired elleth came down the steps, scrolls in hand and waved.

"Suilaid, Galdor! Who-" She stopped and Glorfindel glanced away from the stare she had fixed him with. Galdor and the quay guards had given him the same look and it did nothing to put him at ease.

"Nairn, perhaps you could show us to Lord Elrond?" Galdor had taken her arm and was trying to fight a smile.

"Of- of course. This way, my lord." Galdor beckoned and she led them into the House. Glorfindel saw that it was indeed equipped for winter, with equally ornate passages running throughout the wings. It lacked the grandeur of Gondolin, the wood and marble gave it more a sense of intimacy. Nairn knocked at a carved door, her hand brushing the painted flowers. The order to come was heard from within. "Galdor, from Mithlond- and another." She almost scurried in before them, turning to stare at Glorfindel once again. Glorfindel mentally sighed and stepped into the room. At the table were four elves, all of whom were looking at him. Glorfindel's eyes went to the dark haired elf standing up. He could see Tuor in him immediately, the same soft line to the jaw. Elrond, he guessed, smiled at him with Eärendil's grin. Glorfindel had barely opened his mouth to introduce himself when there was a startled gasp from the table.

"Glorfindel." He turned to see a thin, almost sallow face covered in shock. It took him but a moment to realise that although visibly older, an adult when he had last seen the youth, Erestor was standing before him.

"Glorfindel? I see." There was no surprise in Elrond's voice, simply acceptance. Glorfindel heard it as if far away, his eyes locked on the elf at the table. "Laiken, Gilotor, we shall continue this discussion later." The two other elves, who Glorfindel glanced at simply to check he was not looking at another ghost, departed. He heard the door close behind them and murmured orders to Nairn from Elrond yet all his mind was focussed on was Erestor. Eventually his face broke out into a smile, a beam that stretched across it until it ached. Erestor had made it out of the pass, when the orcs and the balrog came after them, he had made it out along with Tuor and Idril. He was alive.

But not smiling. There was nothing but recognition and shock in his face, no joy.

"Sit, Erestor, and you Lord Glorfindel. Nairn, would you be so good as to fetch Isowen." The name made Glorfindel snap around, Erestor pushed from his mind at the mention of the name. Elrond had a sly smile in place as he nodded. Isowen. Yet Isowen was dead.

"I would not trust a stranger bearing a long dead name if they had not elicited the largest reaction to news I have ever seen from Erestor. From that alone I trust your word, and from having seen your face."

"You knew, Elrond?" Erestor's voice had deepened, cracked it seemed from when Glorfindel had last heard it. At once it felt like little more than a few months, the time spent crossing the ocean, but he could feel the centuries dragging out in the gap in his memories. It had the music Ecthelion's had, something more than looks had passed between the cousins. "You did not think to tell me?"

"A face, my friend, but no name." If he had had any doubts, Glorfindel was rid of them. In Imladris he dwells, said Manwë and Elrond had known of his coming. The knock at the door distracted him.

"My lord?" He did not recognise her, even though he knew who she was. Dark hair and golden eyes, the image of his father. She was the woman the girl in Gondolin promised to be. "Glor- No. No, this is some trick. Glorfindel?" There were no rules, to propriety and he did not bother with ceremony in that strange House. He hugged his sister to him. His beautiful dead sister, the child who had burned in Gondolin in the ruins of their home alongside her twin and their mother. The girl who had never answered when he called for her as they ran. He held his impossible sister to him, disbelieving. "How can this be? You fell. You have been gone for an age! No. No, you are dead." She pulled away from him, looking around him to Erestor. "Tell me you have an answer for this." All she received was a gentle shrug.

"Perhaps you would care to explain these events to us?" Elrond had sat down again, Galdor hovering behind. Slowly Glorfindel took a seat, looking between his sister and Erestor.

"I come with a purpose, I was sent back to fulfil." He paused, desperately trying to hide the fact that he knew no more than that. "To Imladris I was sent, more I cannot say." After the briefest of silences, Isowen let out a choked sob and Glorfindel found himself hugging her again. Over her head he saw the look Elrond and Erestor shared. "Maltion?" he whispered suddenly to his sister.

"Just me." His heart fell. "I was the only one to run out in time." Her twin, her other half. Glorfindel had a bittersweet taste in his mouth as he hugged her again.

"I shall go and find Nairn, there should be a room," Erestor murmured, his voice hoarse. Glorfindel watched him leave but he did not look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It was impossible, he told himself as the corridor passed him by. He made himself slow down to a more natural speed. The mirage that had appeared, the shining wraith that had walked in had turned his whole world on its head.

Glorfindel was dead. Erestor knew that. In the centuries of darkness and wandering the world alone that was one of a collection of solid facts that he had fallen back on. A list of names. His parents, his sister, Ecthelion and Glorfindel. Later others had added their names to the ever growing list but it was the same. The pillars that had been his life in Gondolin, the lights that were all he remembered, were dead. With the exception of his sister, Erestor had seen them all fall. Glorfindel last of all, and the only one they had had time to bury.

Glorfindel was dead. Yet there he was, speaking, smiling, holding Isowen as if he had done nothing more than disappear for a few years. To Erestor's mind it made sense, the Valar had the power to reunite spirits with their bodies, it would only take a ship to bear someone back to Middle Earth. It was his heart that did not want to believe that the golden figure in the council chambers was real. Glorfindel had died, Erestor had seen him die every night in his dreams. They had finally stopped, less than a month ago and he had believed the trauma behind him.

Yet he wanted it to be true. To have the golden elf returned to him after so long apart. More than that, he wanted hope. If Glorfindel was sent back, could Ecthelion or his family follow? Erestor had not felt as if one elf had walked in, brilliant with a spirit inside him the likes of which he could dimly remember from another realm, but as if his whole city had suddenly returned, all the memories and grief flooding back at once.

He found Nairn standing in the Hall of Fire, Laiken talking with her. He did not need to try hard to guess their topic of conversation.

"Is it truly him?" Nairn asked quietly.

"Find an empty set of rooms." Erestor found it easier to order his deputy around than answer difficult questions. It was Glorfindel, he knew that, and by the sheer radiance of his being it was clear that the elf had been in the presence of something more than Middle Earth. Nairn nodded and she was gone, ever perfect in her duties. Erestor did not even need to specify that Glorfindel was to be given more than just a guest room.

"You are not pleased, mellon nin?" Elrond asked him once Erestor had returned to the now devoid of golden lords council chamber. "Erestor?"

"I buried him, Elrond. Isowen and I, we built a cairn over his body. Forgive me, but I do not know if I am pleased or not." He turned away from the look of sympathy or pity on Elrond's face. "Are there arrangements I should be aware of?" Simple matters, rooms, rotas, that was what he needed. To occupy himself so that his subconscious had time to think and process the apparition.

"Just a room. He is to become one of the guards, he refused a higher position. Will that be- too close?"

"It will be just fine, Elrond. If that is what you deem appropriate. Of course, you must be sure he is telling you the truth." Elrond smiled at him.

"Really, Erestor? It is him, you know that better than I."

"Perhaps, but people do not come back!" He had dropped the papers he had been gathering carefully. "Tell me, if you saw Galdor of Gondolin or another lord who perished at Sirion, what would you do?"

"I would smile and be grateful I could see a friend again," answered Elrond. "Erestor, is there aught else I should know?" Erestor shook his head. There was nothing else Elrond needed to know, nothing relevant. Of course, Erestor had never, could never forget the night Gondolin fell. The evening before was also etched firmly into his mind and it haunted him as well. "Erestor?" He had been staring into space, he realised.

"If you will excuse me, Mellon nin. Cutting meetings in half creates more work immediately after." He tried to give Elrond a smile but it fell short and he left.

As he sat himself back down in his office, surrounded by inanimate papers rather than shockingly animate people, he sighed. He had managed to protect Isowen since their city fell, well enough he thought. She would be happy to have her brother back, but Erestor was worried if it was not another threat. To have someone back only to lose them again. Erestor stared down at the page blankly, the runes making little sense to him, words that stood out but refused to turn into sentences. He gave up and clamped his eyes shut at the force of the memories. First the torches had come over the hills, then ordered panic as they prepared for battle. The torches soon turned to flames and just as they thought they were free, Glorfindel was snatched from him down into the darkness with the monstrosity of flame whose brother had slain Ecthelion. Glorfindel's beautiful face had never changed, still younger than it should be and hiding a smile just underneath. He looked wiser now, somehow, but if he closed his eyes Erestor would easily mistake him for the broken body that had been borne up from the abyss, for there had been no sign of death on his face, only its angle to his body.

Glorfindel, he knew, had never been dead to him. For centuries he had followed him in his dreams, looking over his shoulder along with his family and Ecthelion. Isowen had buried him, as much as she could a brother but not Erestor. He found it impossible to let go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

He assumed that the subdued air in the dining hall was due to him, the whispers that flew about as they ate primarily consisted of his name. From her shyness, Isowen was not used to eating at the high table, or else not used to the attention she received.

He had not spoken to Erestor, seated on the other side of Elrond. Desperately he wanted to. The last face he had seen, the last person he had looked for. It was not Idril or Tuor he had charged the balrog for, it had been the young elf he had dragged away from Ecthelion's body. The change was too great, however. Stealing glances as Elrond moved Glorfindel could see how the young face had changed. Cheekbones had become more pronounced and sculpted, his whole bearing shifting from a young son of a small House to a wise lord with a quiet confidence, no matter how shaken and unsettled Erestor might have been at his appearance. In a new world where the presence of nearly two hundred elves crowded his senses, Glorfindel could make room for a new observation. Erestor had a beauty he did not remember and the need to speak to him was bordering on painful.

Isowen said little, repeating how glad she was he was back and vaguely glossing over her life since the Fall. Círdan had explained the end of what he called the First Age and the events, he just wanted to know where his sister and Erestor slotted into the story.

"All these years and you never said who you were," Galdor murmured as they finished the gratin. Both Isowen and Erestor had kept their origins to themselves, only a handful of people knew them as survivors of Gondolin. A silent grief shared between the two of them, as well as a hidden pride or so it seemed.

As they stood to leave the table, Glorfindel tried to turn to catch Erestor but he had slipped around the other side and was halfway towards the door.

"He is probably thinking of Ecthelion," Isowen murmured. "Or Edwengwend. I have my brother returned, he longs for his sister." Even Glorfindel could see the similarities and the hole each had filled for the other. The way Isowen spoke of Erestor, the gaps the Fall had left in their lives. She had become his sister, fitting the shoes left by Edwengwend and he had taken Glorfindel's place as brother and protector. There was at once a relieved feeling that neither had been left alone, smothering the knife that cut through his insides at having not been a part of it. Smiling, she led him out into the large Hall she had called the Hall of Fire on his earlier tour. Glorfindel kept them away from the large hearths that lined one wall, preferring to stand near the tall graceful windows instead of the flames.

Isowen repeatedly opened her mouth, almost voicing a question before turning away again to watch the musicians set up their instruments. On her third or fourth attempt he met her eye.

"What happened to the others?" she blurted, her eyes wide and suddenly she was his little sister again not this strange woman who could have once been her. "It- forgive me, I should not ask."

"Do not apologise," he said gently. "I do not know what became of them. I awoke as if from a dream that took a night to pass, which was in truth an Age. I was not permitted to see the lands beyond the Halls, nor meet with those there." He could speculate, of course as he had done since his father's death. They had been cursed when they had gone into exile, doomed to remain long without their bodies in Mandos. With nothing to compare to, Glorfindel did not know if he had been kept a shorter time than most. He remembered Námo's voice echoing through the hall of judgement, perhaps not granting him forgiveness but at least clemency for the exile. He did not presume more than that.

"I cannot tell if you are changed, or if my memory deceives me," Isowen whispered. Glorfindel suspected it would be both. The crowd, not large by Gondolin's standards, seemed to press in around them. The sound of music was new, conversations buzzed in the air and everywhere there were a thousand things to see. A dull ache had formed in the back of his head, the overload of sensations his body had not experienced before veering towards overwhelming. It was a new body, he had known that since he first walked through the Halls of Mandos with Vairë. He could remember how to wield it and how to process his senses, but it was still new to him. "You are not obliged to remain here," added Isowen. "Come, you have not yet seen the waterfall in the moonlight." So he was shown out of the Hall of Fire and into the gardens. As Isowen led him through the flowerbeds he remembered the tiny seed that Yavanna had gifted to him. He had kept it with him, in the pocket of whichever tunic he wore, almost as a charm.

"Is there a fountain here?" he asked her suddenly.

"A fountain? There are several. Why- oh. None have a reminder of Ecthelion. There is naught here of Gondolin." He did not tell her he thought that was wrong. The very presence of Imladris was reminiscent of Gondolin, the grandson of Turgon as its Lord with Ecthelion's cousin by his side. He had passed relief and paintings of the great deeds of the elves in Middle Earth, he did not doubt that somewhere there would be a mention of Gondolin.

"This," he explained, taking the seed out. "With fountain water it will grow. Perhaps you shall keep it in bloom as you did the last flower of Valinor." She had picked the last flower from the Guarded Realm and carried it over the Helcaraxë, planting it eventually in Gondolin. Isowen laughed, a strained little sound.

"I have not seen this seed before. Where did you come by it? It is no plant from Lindon that I know."

"It was given to me." Her eyes widened slightly and she handed the seed back.

"Then keep it, for I do not think it has aught to do with me."

They wandered among the trees, admiring the majesty of the waterfall that was their wall and gates before Glorfindel pleaded fatigue and she showed him to the chambers set aside for him. Imladris was a maze, the House itself had no clear paths he could remember although Isowen assured him he would in time. With a kiss to her forehead he bid her goodnight.

He went first to the window, finding that below it was a latch to open the wooden partition and it became a sort of door out to the gardens for it was on the ground floor. Two doors led off the first room that was occupied by a table and bookshelves, which were bare, save for two cursory volumes. He gazed for a moment at the walls, painted with a red flowered vine that flowed onto the wooden beams and doors, the first of which led to a bedroom that had no window for it lay further in the house. The second and the room, in which he felt he ought to tread first, contained a sunken wooden tub and taps. It was grand when placed alongside the room in the Ship House Círdan had allotted him, yet Glorfindel was aware that it would be but a guest room in the Homely House and that more splendid chambers lay above him. It sufficed and he did not want for anything more. The grandeur of Gondolin would have reminded him of his lost home had he found it in Imladris.

It was only once he lay in bed, clean and having found a fresh tunic in the wardrobe that was only slightly too small on the arms, that he realised why he was glad he had been given that room over any other. On the ceiling, painted in a careful hand, were the Tengwar runes of a poem. He could read it without having to move his head. It was short, he guessed that the artist had chosen one verse from a longer lay to transfer to the ceiling.

Not all that glitters is pure gold,

Those lost at night will return,

They who weary are not weak or old,

He who knows naught else shall still yearn.

Glorfindel had read it half a hundred times before his exhaustion overcame him. On the road with Galdor he had not let himself sleep for long, always more afraid of the nightmares than the fear contained within them. In the silence, for after the ship the waterfall seemed distant, he fell into his dreams more deeply than he would have wanted to.

He fell through the fire again, twisting in his sleep to escape it. Around him the flames tore at his flesh, searing it and he was blinded by the fire and heat. The noise was thunderous in his ears, inside his head rather than an external source. Behind it the rushing sound of air travelling past them. The first collision with the side of the abyss, snapping his leg back under him. The darkness screamed in pain. They hit the rocks again, the fire cushioned him in pain but he did not hit solid rock. Then the final lengthy fall, down and down until the plight had stretched out for a lifetime.

He let out a startled yell as his back hit the ground, leaping up only to fall against it again. Panting he forced his eyes open and stared at the bed looming up next to him. The floor was cold and hard beneath him, his back sore from where he had landed on it. Around him the sheets were caught up in his legs and two long red lines covered each of his arms where he had scratched at the imaginary fire. Unsteadily, Glorfindel pulled himself up, shaking as he righted the covers. He wiped his tears away with an angry hand. His breathing took longer to rectify, it refused to come evenly, preferring instead of carry on its erratic bursts that stopped him from seeing clearly. His exhaustion had not lessened, the nightmare had made it worse. Refusing to let himself be drawn back into its webs, he pulled on the breeches he had left out and crossed to the front room where he unlocked the window door. Out in the gardens the waterfall's ever present gently thunder soothed him until he found himself sitting peacefully by the side of one of the many tiny streams that crisscrossed the valley floor. There, with one hand dipped absently in the water, he finally fell into a doze that although was not sleep, was more restful than nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Immediately Glorfindel was placed with the guard for training, with an efficiency that startled him. For a small settlement, he had expected Elrond to be personally in charge of everything. Apparently it was not the case.

"My name is Maethor, I am the Seneschal of Imladris," a scrawny looking red haired elf told him as he walked out onto the wide training field. Half a dozen other elves were already sparring with each other or going through complicated routines on their own. Glorfindel felt suddenly self-conscious of how unused he still was to his own strength. He had no choice though, practicing on his own would only get him so far. Maethor paired him with a Noldo that was roughly the same height as him and Glorfindel shook out his sword arm.

The other elf moved first, circling him slowly. After using a piece of rope as an adversary for weeks, Glorfindel found himself slow to react and simply stepped backwards. The first blow came from above and his sword was there to meet it before he even thought of moving it.

Few shall match thee lest they learn for thy own hands. Tulkas' words came to him as he watched his blade move. It responded before he was aware of ordering his body to react. His limbs were slow and he hesitated when their blades met, not following through. Right, down, parry, each move was perfect but he did not press and advantage or attack in his own right, it was purely defensive and the other elf knew it and tried to draw him out. Each attempt went unanswered as Glorfindel had trouble placing his feet. Only his sword arm recalled what skill he had once had, performing movements he was unaware of ever learning. The rest of his limbs were slow and awkward around him.

"Enough, my lord," the other elf said eventually, stepping back. "Maethor will be pleased, if you did not stand like a newly born colt." The elf reddened slightly. "Forgive me."

"It is of no matter. All this is strange to me." Glorfindel saw where the elf's gaze lay and extended his sword for inspection. It was truly a beautiful blade, he had at first thought steel then realised it was mithril in the light, engraved with a vine of flowers on one side and curves that looked to him to be water on the other. "Here." He turned it and offered the hilt to his opponent. The elf took it, balancing it as his eyes went wide.

"It is a truly remarkable blade. No finer could be found in all the treasure hordes of Middle Earth." Aulë's mark was stamped on the hilt, a rune Glorfindel had seen in Tirion when he was younger. He had seen in the looking glass in his room that he had not changed physically since the Fall, during which time two generations of Idril's line had grown to adult hood. Even elves felt the passing of the years and by rights he should have some mark. He did not and Tirion could have been a decade ago if one judged his face. "Long could I marvel at it, but I should return it to you and bid you mind your feet for you shall trip if you do not learn to stand." Glorfindel smiled and took his blade back.

"I shall endeavour to practice," he answered. The sound of hooves on stone made them turn around and a scout shot through the gate into the courtyard and out of sight behind them. "Ill news?"

"Possibly. I do not mean offense when I say I shall tell Maethor not to add you to the guard just yet, if we are called presently." Glorfindel nodded, he did not think he was ready for a real fight. He had seen too much death to want to face more immediately upon his return. Around them the guard drifted towards the armoury, casually ready to be called up.

"It is none of your concern, all of you," Maethor called. Perhaps it was the size of the valley's population, or some wider situation he was not yet aware of, but the whole guard was too on edge, the arrival of a single scout should not have been enough to break off their practice. Glorfindel would have moved their training to a place where they had no view of the causeway and bridge and thus would not be distracted.

"Again?" his opponent asked.

"Again."

They finished mid-afternoon, the guard dispersing for two hours of rest before they changed shifts and were sent out. Glorfindel wandered back in the general direction of his room, looking down corridors on either side curiously. He had thought that as long as he stayed on the ground floor, he could not get too badly lost. Seeing the hidden expanses within the House changed his mind.

"Glorfindel?" Isowen waved at him from down the corridor. She had obviously decided to smile fully the entire time, instead of the careful expression she had worn the day before. "Elrond asked me to find you. The Lady Galadriel is coming here." Artanis. Glorfindel managed to smile wanly. They had not parted on good terms when he chose to follow Turgon instead of her and refused to accompany her to Doriath. "You have not forgotten any of what happened, have you?" He realised he must have had an odd expression.

"No. It was but yesterday to me." Which was true, as well as the misty dreams appearing to last a lifetime of the earth. "Is there a reason for my being summoned?"

"You are her reason for coming." News travelled fast in Eriador it seemed. "And Elrond wishes to speak to you on other matters." She fell silent as they walked along.

"Isowen, I am sorry that-"

"No, Glor. Never say that. You could not have changed anything. I have heard that from Tuor and Idril and Egalmoth since we escaped. You died to save us! There was nothing else you could have done!" She glared angrily at him for a moment. "Only I never said that to Tuor or Egalmoth." Isowen smiled slightly, abashed. "There was a time when I was angry with you for falling, before I understood what you did for us. It is a miracle that you are with us again." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as they stopped at the study door.

Inside sat Elrond and, Glorfindel noticed with the tiniest jolt, Erestor.

"An old friend of yours will be arriving two days hence: the Lady Artanis, now Galadriel and Lord Celeborn," Elrond told him. Glorfindel only saw his eyes move meaningfully to Erestor as he was looking towards the darker elf at the same time. "Excuse me." He turned in surprise as Elrond left them alone for no apparent reason. He carefully stopped himself from looking at Erestor. The last evening of his life they had spent together, that short gap of time before the festival had started had been theirs. The fires, hours later were etched into his mind yet as he shot a brief glance at the other elf, it was the moments by the fountain that ran through his head.

"He-" Erestor began, staring resolutely at the table. "Elrond believes there is something about you I have refused to tell him."

"Would he be correct?" Glorfindel's tone was as casually curious as the unease of the moment would allow him to be.

"Yes." Glorfindel wondered where the eloquence had gone, the clever replies had been replaced by a strained pause. "He bade me speak with you, for he feels I have neglected to do so."

"And you do not know what to say to me now," Glorfindel finished for him.

"I am at a loss." He sat very straight in his chair, Glorfindel saw a confidence that had only been hinted at in Gondolin. "I will ask this, meaning no indiscretion..."

"Why was I chosen? I have no answer. Ecthelion-" He stopped, trying not to feel hurt at Erestor wanting Ecthelion back in his place.

"That was not my question." Somewhere between the muted tone and politeness was a faint tinge of humour, well hidden but there. "I would ask what you can recall." Glorfindel hesitated. What details could he share, with anyone?

"Every moment until the darkness," he answered. "Every second of that day up to the last face I saw before-" Erestor had stood up suddenly, his eyes clenched shut briefly. "I think it would be best if I left. Good evening."

"Good evening," a strained voice answered.

"Wimissë-" he murmured as Erestor passed, calling out the name he had known him by. Erestor stared at him, startled.

"No, that boy is gone," came the quiet answer and the door closed. Glorfindel looked at the shut door, at a loss for what to do. He felt as if the ground under him was ice, the new born colt ruling his legs could barely stand in the new world he had been thrust into. Erestor was there, different but just as perfect as the young elf he had been in Gondolin- and Glorfindel was not at ease enough to allow himself to follow that train of thought any further.

He woke as the sun rose over the cliffs, pulling himself away from the river he found himself by. He knew that at some point he would have to find a way to sleep in his bed the entire night. That point, he decided was far off. Two days had passed and he stood with a certain apprehension at what lay ahead. He had not met Celeborn as he had not been one of the emissaries from Thingol who had met at the Feast of Reuniting. He wandered back to his room and changed into something he deemed suitable to meet the White Lady. Artanis's reputation appeared to have grown significantly in the time he had missed. There was nothing grand about the plain red tunic and white leggings, nothing to suggest who he had once been. Elrond and the other elves called him Lord, but Glorfindel was as uneasy with that title as he had been when it was first given to him. Where were his people? Isowen, no one else. Once Erestor had followed his banners as part of Ecthelion's house as they crossed the Helcaraxë. Now, the House of the Golden Flower was gone, burnt to ashes in Gondolin. He put Yavanna's seed in his pocket. Whatever she had meant to tell him, it was lost on him. His sister formed part of Elrond's House, and he would have to find a place there as well. There was no Gondolin to be a lord of, no eleven other places at the table to sit among. Glorfindel sighed and forced himself to straighten up before braving the corridor.

He went through the daily practice with Maethor and his guard, cut short as the scouts announced the arrival of the Lord and Lady of Eregion. Glorfindel found a spot somewhere behind Elrond and Erestor, between Nairn who was going over a muttered list to herself, repeating phrases he could not quite catch, and Isowen. Twelve horses cantered into the courtyard, clattering across the bridge as they came to a stop before the steps that led up to the house. Glorfindel could see her, unmistakable even among fellow Noldo and blond Sindar. The light of the two trees of Valinor still shone in her hair, caught as they were in the Silmarils. Silver and gold, entwined and shining in the daylight. Her lord was as tall as any Noldo and they were followed by ten elves, mostly Noldor guards.

"Mae govannen, Elrond," Celeborn called gravely. Glorfindel did not strain to catch their greetings, watching instead as Artanis moved to Erestor. Her question was met with the slightest turn of his head and they both looked up at the elves on the steps.

Her eyes were wide, but not from shock. She had already heard the news, of course and some part of him wondered if, like Elrond she had known long before of his coming. She had had time to prepare herself, to plan which emotions he would see flit across her face. Wonder, briefly, which he thought might be genuine, then pleasure as she ran gracefully up to him.

"Glor." Her hand cupped his cheek as she smiled. He was forgiven for her anger, it seemed. "It is true." Her pleasure in seeing him was carefully constructed, as everything always had been. He waited for her to say something, anything else as way of apology. Perhaps that was too much to expect. "We lamented your fall." Yet she had abandoned him in favour of Doriath and Thingol's court. She stepped back and he thought he saw the facade slip for there was fear there briefly, hidden in her smile. He stood tall on the step above her and noticed the shift. No longer was he her playmate, a distant cousin by marriage and an unimportant friend. They stood there, the last remnants of the host of Fingolfin that had come to Middle Earth through the ice, as equals. She held the light of Valinor in her hair, he felt it within him.

"Artanis," he said somewhat coldly. Isowen and Nairn had slipped away to join Celeborn and Elrond at the bottom of the steps, well out of earshot.

"Tell me why you have come," she commanded, with equal detachment all of a sudden. "You who hated this land and longed to go home. Is that the choice we are given?"

"We are given no choice. I have been sent to further the designs of those to whom we all answer."

"I suppose they think you blameless, they are blind. Finrod's hands were cleaner than yours." She took the blame, she accepted her fault and even though it was veiled in insult he caught it. It was a start.

"I do not know if your brother is coming back, Artanis," he told her gently. "I am sorry." Their stances relaxed, he left it there.

"Then I shall settle for you and be pleased." She paused, turning back to the others. "Come, Celeborn wishes to meet you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Erestor knew he was summoned without having to hear the words. He had met her first, giving way to her curiosity towards Glorfindel. She looked at him first though, seeing his turmoil and it was not long before he felt her calling to him. He found her sitting in the gardens, beneath the statue that was modelled on her brother Finrod.

"Sit," Galadriel ordered him gently, gesturing towards the two cups of wine that sat on the bench beside her. "It is him, or rather once it would have been."

"He has changed," Erestor murmured.

"I did not mean that, mellon nin. It was a question. He was the one you lost in Gondolin. You told me once why you did not dance or even smile when you first took refuge with us. Glorfindel was the heart you lost that night. Or the elf he was before his death. Tell me what troubles you now, take my counsel as I have taken yours before." It was only after the Fall that Erestor and Galadriel met, when they both took refuge with Círdan during the war. He knew she had crossed with them, in the ice but he had been nothing then and did not meet with the kin of kings. Yet in the darkness after the Fall she had been there, first in Beleriand then Eregion. His place had been to advise from the shadows, both to her and Celeborn, becoming a friend as well as servant.

"My heart was hardened, he was dead and I knew that I would not meet him again. I turned away in exile, willingly postponing any chance of seeing him in Aman, if I had not given them up completely. I was, prepared for that."

"Not for this." Erestor sighed, rubbing his temples.

"No. This- What can I do? His memories are there, yet so are mine. He is to stay here, to walk these halls for the indeterminable future. Isowen was reminder enough, I do not think I can bear this." Watching over Isowen as they fled from haven to haven in search of a home had harrowed him down, looking at the sister of the elf he had loved was at once a cruel reminder of his own little sister and the golden lord who had perished on the cliff. Erestor had left her at one point, seeking solitude from the past only for her to find him again, in all innocence in Imladris.

"There is a place for you in Eregion," Galadriel told him gently. "Always." The thought tempted him, to escape the pain of seeing Glorfindel again. Her smile however, betrayed him.

"You know I cannot leave now."

"No. I have seen you with him, without speaking you are always just out of sight. He must turn to you, and turn he does. You stay away, Isowen does not. If you hated this pain you would not put yourself in the same room as him, you would not stay in the chamber when he arrives. My offer is there, if your strength fails you." That anyone would pay so close attention to him as to notice that had never occurred to him as he watched Glorfindel. He told himself it was merely the presence that had come with him, the true sense of having been returned from the West.

"I have never had much to begin with," he murmured.

"Time will bridge the gap that has been created. Perhaps not what could have been, but you shall not always look at him in pain."

"What do you know?" She laughed softly.

"Many things. Have faith, Mellon nin." He sighed, suspicious of her certainty. Of course she knew more than she would tell him, like Elrond she could see ahead but took more pleasure in being cryptic than Elrond did. "You wish to see."

"No." He sighed. "No, I do not wish to see. I know what trouble comes with that." Erestor stood up. "I think some things are best left alone."

The nightmares that had plagued him since Gondolin, always the same, had gone. He had not seen Glorfindel fall into the abyss in his dreams for two months, which from his limited knowledge of the sea would have been when Glorfindel's ship set out. Erestor did not like the logic in that. Instead of seeing the balrog on the cliff, he spent the nights walking through a city of shadows that he could not quite name. Not Gondolin, but not Imladris or Mithlond either. Always at the end of the street was a fountain but he had yet to reach it. It was not unpleasant, indeed, he clung to it in the hope of reaching the water, yet he always woke as if the dream had spanned the entire night.

He did what he could, not avoiding but not seeking out the golden elf's company. They had agreed to leave it alone, not perhaps a vow on both their parts to be silent on the matter, although it was close. Galadriel did not tarry in Imladris, she had come to sate her own curiosity, nothing more. Erestor did not quite dare ask her why there was frost between her and Glorfindel and she did not say. Only Celeborn gave away some small detail. They had not parted on good terms when Turgon led his people to build Gondolin and Galadriel went instead to Doriath. Before, Glorfindel had been of a lesser standing than her, now he held the power equal and above any. Erestor found himself staring occasionally, in the dining hall or through his office window as it overlooked the training grounds. Glorfindel shone. It was not poetic and he could find other ways of describing him if he tried. The simple fact was that as Galadriel and the High Elves reportedly shone with the light of Valinor in which they were born, Glorfindel was brighter. As bright as they day by the sea, when Erestor had first caught sight of the golden lord. At Alqualondë, when he had been too young to take part, and grateful for that. His cousins, Ecthelion and the Lady they marched under whose name had not been spoken since she went down to the water's edge to slay the Teleri had gone but his parents had held back, watching in horror. When slowly the others had trickled back, covered in blood only one lord had stood out from the rest. Sheathed in gold and free from any stain he was held in Turgon's arms, crying but innocent. Erestor tore his eyes away from the figure down on the grass and looked instead at his lines of curved runes.

"Speak with him," murmured Galadriel from the doorway. "Now or later, eventually you will." Erestor answered with a non-committal shrug. Doubtless he would, when he was no longer blinded by pain or brilliance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Artanis did not stay. Her curiosity sated, she and her husband returned to Eregion promptly, with the promise that they would receive a visit from Elrond in the spring. It was not quite an easy peace that seemed to lie across Eriador, but it was more peaceful than any in the wider world Glorfindel had ever known.

Day by day his strength returned to him, his surety when he placed his feet made him quick and he surpassed his opponent with increasing regularity. For nearly two months he was not deemed able to accompany the patrols, a decision he accepted eagerly for it was one thing besting another elf on the training field, another to come up against orcs in the mountains. He had not seen orcs since his death, yet in his dreams he never saw them. Only the fire. He had not dealt with those dreams, each night he woke although he had gotten past the need to walk out to the river on all but the hardest of nights.

The morning of his first patrol brought a feeling of dread with it. He dressed in the armour Maethor had given him, the familiarity of metal plate and scales the other side of the linen padding reassured him slightly.

"Is it not hard?" Hesten, his sparring partner asked. "To follow rather than lead?" The formality had gone quickly between them and they stood together in the courtyard as they waited for Maethor.

"It is preferable," he answered with a thin smile. "The responsibility wears you down. Stop me if I do presume, however." He had answered to Turgon but it would be the first patrol when he was not giving orders.

They rode out, splitting into pairs as they each took the path assigned to them. Hesten led him south, out of the valley and into the foothills. They passed the guard posts that in a week's time the rota would have them filling.

"Many would think themselves well defended with just the valley walls," he said after a while. Hesten shrugged.

"Perhaps we are over cautious. There is an enemy in these lands. Imladris was founded by those who escaped a failed campaign into Eriador, we are a little skittish." The defences were reassuring. Elrond would not repeat his great grandfather's mistake. "Say what you will, Maethor will not hear of it from me."

"Your rotas make little sense. For now you have the numbers to make them work, but what will happen when you no longer have so many to call upon?"

"You have found the long standing feud between Maethor and the Chief Advisor. The allocation of shifts and patrol duties formally come under Maethor's control, yet their apparent inefficiency irks Lord Erestor."

"As seneschal Maethor should not even be responsible for the guard."

"His predecessor was charged with building Imladris and the protective boundaries fell within that. He perished on patrol and his Captain was promoted to his place. Therefore the exact division of duties between Maethor and Lord Erestor is a contested grey area." The thought amused him somewhat. Erestor could argue, even in Gondolin when he had no power to make his voice heard and Glorfindel had watched him with a wry smile from the side lines.

"Intriguing. I did not expect politics in so small a place." Hesten laughed at that.

"Not politics, that is for the Lindon court rather, or Greenwood. I would say rather, personal disagreements." He raised an eyebrow at that. "As advisor, Erestor naturally has Elrond's ear, he came as the commander of the troops from Harlindon. Before Imladris was founded he was the chief counsellor to the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Maethor was raised from the ranks of the Sindar elves that remained behind when Oropher migrated to the Greenwood. He has no love for one born to power such as Erestor."

"Born to power?" That was hard to swallow and Glorfindel almost laughed. "Erestor was not born to anything except a house with too many younger branches in a city with too few positions."

"I do not understand. He came with the Lady Galadriel, he is of the house of Finarfin, one of her people." Then Glorfindel did laugh in astonishment.

"I did not have him marked as a liar. He tells this tale?" He would have thought Erestor loyal enough to Ecthelion and Turgon to tell the truth of his heritage, even if speaking of Gondolin was painful.

"I have not heard it from his own mouth, but it is widely known. It came as a shock to us all to discover that Isowen, Lady Isowen I suppose, was your sister." Isowen had not said a word either. Glorfindel allowed himself a moment to marvel at how different his sister was from their mother, it took strength to swallow her pride in such a way, unless she was ashamed of her family.

"She is no Lady for I am no Lord, we are all that remains of our House. Still, Erestor was part of Fingolfin's host, although all who first followed Finarfin later followed his brother. Of the House of the Fountain under Ecthelion he comes, and I always believed him proud of it. What has come to pass that none wish to remember the Lords of Gondolin?"

"I cannot answer that. Only that he now answers to the son of Eärendil and I have not heard any mention of Gondolin. But then I am not one of those he takes into confidence. If you will not ask him, ask Nairn or Isowen, for they are his companions when Elrond has no need of him." Isowen, of course, his would be sister. Glorfindel could almost see the new lives and names they had forged for themselves, as if to leave Gondolin behind them. That they would wipe away their city, and the sacrifice that had been made in an attempt to save it turned his stomach.

"Is Gondolin remembered?" he asked Hesten quietly as they turned down the path to circle back.

"By many. It was the last realm of Beleriand to fall. There are lays, many in fact." Suddenly there was a smirk on his face. "You have yet to hear it, have you not?"

"Hear what?"

"Your deeds passed into myth. Few can claim to have slain a balrog. The last hero of Gondolin, there is one particularly long and well written lay. Perhaps if you listen, someone will sing it in the Hall of Fire." Glorfindel kept his gaze on the trees around them. He would rather not listen to a romanticised version of his own death. Gondolin's fall felt a long time ago, yet he could not quite imagine that it was not still out there and he could simply ride through the mountains until he found it. "Or you may hear the battle of Ecthelion. It is not as well known." Listening to Hesten he realised that Gondolin, indeed all the events of their flight to Middle Earth and the wars there, were little more than myths to the elves of Eriador who had not seen Beleriand. Heroes of an age gone by, Galadriel and Círdan the only reminders.

"Are there any other survivors?"

"I am not sure. Lord Tuor and Lady Idril are the ones the poets speak of, but they have passed now. I was not aware that Lord Erestor and Isowen hailed from Gondolin, therefore I cannot say how many more may be hiding." Hiding from what? Glorfindel wished to ask. The Enemy was vanquished, replaced only by his onetime servant. There was little danger to those who came from Turgon's city.

He spoke little for the remainder of the patrol, staring out at the cliffs and woods in search of dangers as Hesten checked for disturbances to the path he knew well. It was nearing evening when they regrouped and rode back down into the valley, with no signs of enemies.

"My Lady?" Glorfindel called as he passed Nairn on his way to the Hall of Fire. He did not wish to listen to the ballads, he had seen the story first hand, but his curiosity and the tinge of anger at Erestor and Isowen's denial of their past sent him there to look for answers. He was too formal to her, he noted and she blushed slightly in an awkward half curtsey. "May I take a moment of your time?"

"Of course," she answered, her voice rising in pitch as she tried to settle her nerves. On his part he offered her a warm smile. Respect towards a lord only went so far, her shyness served as a reminder that he had done the impossible and did not fit in seamlessly with the elves of Middle Earth.

"You are close friends with Erestor, I am told." Putting a title in front of his name felt too strange to say. Ecthelion was the lord, proud and boisterous, Erestor the cousin who stood in the shadows and rolled his eyes before delivering the scathing remarks that went largely unheard. Nairn nodded. "Do you know from whence he came, and what path led him to be Elrond's advisor here?"

"He was one of the Lady Galadriel's advisors, she bade him come and aid Elrond when we campaigned in Eriador. Before that he was one of her followers from Beleriand. Why do you ask, my Lord? It is his own tale, although he does not speak of himself as much as some."

"We met before, I was merely curious as to what had become of him. My thanks, Nairn." He let her pass, smiling politely. He had mellowed somewhat as it became apparent that rather than lying outright, Erestor had merely been economical with the details. Glorfindel had yet to work out why. He did not, however, think that he ought to confront him directly. Instead he sought his sister out, steering her away from the hearth gently.

"No one knew who you were, or where you and Erestor came from. Why is this?" Perhaps he should have used more tact, yet he still half saw the child who needed direct questions framed in simple words.

"He does not like to bring it up. Not now Egalmoth and Idril are gone. Why does it matter, Glor? I wanted to speak of it but he stopped talking of Gondolin when he found that he was the only survivor of his House." Glorfindel nodded slowly. He had not yet worked out how to miss Gondolin, Erestor clearly had found a way to cope.

"Then I am naught but a reminder." He had guessed as much, that Erestor did not wish to speak with him and remember their parting.

"You are not unwanted!" Isowen hugged him gently. "It will take time, that is all. How was your patrol?" He smiled and gave in to her menial questioning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

He began to have aches in muscles he had not stretched on the ship. Hesten was rapidly running out of ways to best him in training as his strength and coordination returned to him. They spoke of everything as they trained, of the other inhabitants and the history of Imladris and occasionally, Glorfindel would do the talking and let some story slip that would give his friend another glimpse into the life of Beleriand. It was never much though, he never spoke of meaningful things. Merely how they had built Gondolin, or how the march across the Helcaraxë had been organised. He left the tales of heroes to the singers, and anything more personal he did not share.

"You are late," he told Hesten when finally the other elf arrived on the training field the day after their second patrol. He had been warming up for over an hour and had almost gone to wander around the gardens when his partner did not appear.

"Maethor kept me. I apologise." They would normally have finished by the time they actually started. Glorfindel went straight in for the kill instead of their usual circling, repeatedly pushing Hesten back a little harshly. "If this is you when you are annoyed, remind me never to anger you." He grinned and relented.

Glorfindel glanced around as they took a moment to catch their breath, watching the other elves come and go. He was not normally on the training field at that hour, the routines of these others were new to him. One group caught his attention, four dark haired elves in a circle. It took him a moment to work out that they were in fact working in pairs as they span around each other, blades meeting in rhythm.

"We could use them in the guard, but their minds rival their strength so they are shut away in libraries." Hesten had turned to him once more but Glorfindel still watched the four scribes intently. The one with his back to him finally turned around and his stomach flipped. Some suited the tight fitting training tunic well, some even better. As he span and lunged at his opponents Glorfindel could not tear his eyes away. "Is that wonder that Erestor can fight?" Hesten asked him. "That is yet another reason for Maethor to dislike him. Glor?" He snapped back to the real world and gave Hesten a hasty smile.

"Yes?" Hesten smirked so broadly Ecthelion would have been proud.

"What are you staring at?"

"I was not staring," he answered too quickly. Hesten only laughed as he swung his blade around to loosen his shoulders.

"Who has your attention?" His aurora of awe had worn off and the glare he shot Hesten did nothing. "Glorfindel."

"No one."

"You are a terrible liar," said Hesten. "And your posture goes south when you are annoyed." Glorfindel straightened his back as he rapped Hesten's blade squarely. "I think we may have done enough."

As they sheathed their swords, he had the opportunity to look over at the group across the field. They were all good, none of them experts yet all finely trained. He tried to watched them objectively and pick out faults in their movements but all he could do was stare at the perfect grace of the slightest of the four. It could have been Gondolin, with Ecthelion by his side as he caught his first glimpses of the young trainee. Only now Erestor knew exactly what he was doing and he did not hesitate as he swung his blade, almost dancing around the others.

"No one, indeed," a sly voice said beside him.

"Quiet, Thel." There was a moment's silence before Glorfindel realised he had called Hesten by Ecthelion's name. The slip wrenched at his heart as he was shapely reminded that Ecthelion was not there to tease or tell him to grow up. Just Hesten, who for all his smiles was not who Glorfindel wanted most to speak to. "Forgive me, Hesten." He walked away, heading into the carefully constructed woodlands on the edge of the gardens. In the solitude he could let his heart and mind catch each other up. The hole that was shaped like Ecthelion threatened to swallow him whole, a gaping maw that stood where his friend should have. He knew what the feeling was that had reawakened grief with it. Seeing Erestor had summoned up longing once more and those memories were firmly attached to Gondolin.

Glorfindel looked out into the woods, holding back the warm pin pricks of tears. Out there, no matter which direction he went, he would never find his home again. Gondolin was gone. He let the tears come. It was a different pain to that of the nightmares, less sharp and physical. He had cried as they ran and grieved before they reached the mountain pass, and just as the sensations of life came back to him so did that in all its entirety. Of everyone he had ever known in his city, only Isowen and Erestor remained. Even as they ran there had been others: Egalmoth, Galdor, Tuor and Idril. Now they were gone as well.

He did not count how long he had been out in the woods. It could barely have been more than an hour from when he has left to the moment he walked back through the side doors to the armoury.

"Is all well?" Hesten asked him as they sat together to mend the rows of training armour that always managed to get torn or scratched.

"Forgive me, I should not have left so suddenly."

"It is of no matter." Hesten sighed, looking down. "It is easy to forget you are perhaps not so well adjusted underneath." Isowen told him things would take time, she had not specified what he would do during that time whilst nightmares and grief knocked at him. There was the pause that should have been filled by an offer of an ear to listen to his sorrows but Hesten remained silent as they worked.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

His first taste of blood came too soon. The patrols he realised ranged wider than he had done at first, being kept closer to the valley for his own safety. Once he had proven himself to Maethor he was one of the company that guarded the road between the Last Bridge and the Ford of Bruinen, names he had had to learn quickly. The lay of the land was unfamiliar to him, the road his only landmark. He had not been as wary on the journey from Mithlond with Galdor as he should have been and his memory did not present the landscape around the next corner to him as he would have hoped. They rode north from the road, towards the woods that he could not name yet, through the lands of Rhudaur. The patrol had been in the wilds for three nights when they first smelt the passage of dark creatures, the stench lingering in the grass and the brooks that the orcs had stepped in.

"They have not come this close to our borders in a decade," Hesten murmured as he remounted.

"They are travelling," added Glorfindel. "That is not a raiding camp that lies broken." Maethor nodded.

"We follow them, they cannot be allowed to reach their quarry." Twelve riders trotted on, Hesten leading them along the trail. Around them the forest was too loud, the birds scampered through the branches and the wind sang with unusual volume. Glorfindel knew he was more skittish than the others who had blood on their swords with each passing season. He needed only to blink and the last time he raised his blade flashed before his eyes.

"There," Hesten whispered and they formed up. The orcs were using the road which gave the mounted elves room to manoeuvre and they formed up three abreast, the archers on the flanks.

"Charge." Maethor's command was quiet, nothing more than a whisper yet they went in a perfect line, thundering down the road to catch the orc band from behind. Glorfindel's sword cleaved a helm in two before the orcs were even aware they were upon them. Instantly he knew what he was doing again, raining blows down on the heads of the creatures without hesitation. They screamed and a few nearer the front turned to fight back, the sounds of slaughter turning into the ringing of blows parried and returned. He pushed an axe aside, plunging his blade in between the owner's breastplate and helmet. Once the body around it crumpled he pulled it free, slashing downwards at the next figure.

"Daro!" Maethor called to them, dismounting. Two orcs remained alive, each held at sword point. What he said next was lost on Glorfindel for it was a tongue he had not heard.

"Westron, the speech of Men," Hesten whispered to him. "He asks where they are bound." The orc spat in reply. "Maethor bids them speak, or we shall return them to their master form his to punish them." Glorfindel did not need to think too hard to imagine the hell the orcs could wreak upon their own. The orc cursed them, their sentence only just ended when Maethor nodded and the two guards slit their throats. "Eregion, to the Lady Galadriel's lands they were sent, to harry her borders." They would not manage that, he thought with a sigh. It felt too easy, to swing his blade again, to kill. It came too readily. Glorfindel met Maethor's eye and saw the curt nod. He had killed, he had proven himself worthy of his place in the company. He neither smiled nor scowled, feeling empty as the adrenaline left him.

They burnt the orc corpses and rode on, fleet and silent. They had no wounds, surprise had saved them from facing any real resistance. Glorfindel rode with his eyes ahead, feeling the distaste on his tongue. Tulkas had given him strength in arms, Aulë himself forged the sword at his hip, yet he took no relish in what had just happened. He supposed it would be yet another sensation he would have to become readjusted to.

"Do I approach you as I would an elfling after their first kill or keep my peace?" Hesten asked, handing him a crust of bread and cheese.

"I am fine," he answered softly.

"The patrol ends in two days." Hesten set about eating and said nothing else until they were called up for sentry duty. Glorfindel flexed his arm, feeling the phantom weight of his sword. Two more nights of danger then back to the safety of the valley. He stared out into the forest as the others rested and sighed. Guarding Imladris was not his task, even if already it felt like his duty. He glanced at his companions. Until his path was clear to him they would be his charge.

The sight of Imladris again, even after so short a time away, was a welcome one. Glorfindel followed Maethor down the path to the valley floor, not quite looking around in wonder but with the hint of a smile on his face. In the courtyard, a handful of people waited for the patrol. Hesten dismounted to receive a passing nod from his brother, a few others were met with kisses. Glorfindel felt a pair of eyes on him and turned to see a shoulder jutting out from behind Asfaloth's head.

"Did your first lengthy patrol go well?" Erestor's voice asked. He remained hidden by Asfaloth but Glorfindel would have known his voice anywhere, the quiet tone and a melody that was as close to Ecthelion's as two books by the same hand.

"We met a band of orcs but they will not be a threat again." Erestor's face appeared around the great white nose as Asfaloth turned towards him, nudging the advisor's chest gently. There was something bordering on worry there.

"I am glad to see the full company return." Glorfindel nodded, feeling as if Asfaloth was somehow ignoring him in favour of Erestor, who produced an apple out of his sleeve. It was taken before he could even hold it out and Erestor laughed quietly. A sound that had not been heard by Glorfindel since the night by the fountain. Their eyes met for the briefest second, ebony on sapphire. "If you will excuse me, Glorfindel." All he could do was smile tentatively as Erestor turned away. Asfaloth butted his head for attention.

"I have no apples," he told the horse. Asfaloth managed to look disappointed but not overly surprised as he nudged him again. Glorfindel shook his head, whatever the whinny meant he was no longer speaking his horse's language.

"A laugh," Hesten murmured in passing. "Now that is a rare thing to hear." Glorfindel swatted him away to hide his frown. In no world should Erestor's laugh be a rare thing.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

A laugh, now that is a rare thing. Hesten's words ran through his head for the rest of the day, and the night that followed as he sat on his windowsill watching the waterfall. Erestor's laughs were rare, that saddened him somewhat. Erestor had had some time to grieve, and the loss of Gondolin would be understandably always present, yet to have become so grave that a laugh was considered a rare thing... Glorfindel wondered if he was affected someone, by what had happened to him, to be able to laugh and smile with Hesten and the others. Yet Isowen was not grave, and she had lost as much as Erestor had.

"We shall see to it, Thel," he murmured to his absent friend. Ecthelion would have tried to cheer his cousin up, but perhaps not as subtly or in the same manner as Glorfindel hoped to. Imladris was beautiful and Glorfindel knew he had a choice between taking his second chance at living or giving in to the nightmares. He glanced at the bed and sighed, tired after the patrol he knew he ought to try.

It did some good, he woke before dawn having had a little more rest than he was used to. He still retained some hope that the terrors would fade in time, although he would prefer to see time as Tuor had, day by day and with the passing of seasons erasing wounds rather than the passing of centuries dulling their pain. As he stared at the words on his ceiling, Glorfindel began to feel an idea forming. Ecthelion would have mocked him, he could almost feel the elbow in his ribs.

He went in search of Erestor once his morning duties in the stables and armoury were complete, hoping that nothing important would occupy the advisor that afternoon. It appeared that Erestor also played the role of librarian, caring for the large collection he and Elrond had amassed. Glorfindel stared at the long narrow room as he stepped into it for what he realised was the first time since his arrival. The high arches ceiling and half-hidden balconies stretched the length of the room, running above the long rows of shelves, each carved with trailing vines or waves. It was a breath-taking room, delicately crafted and as silent as a haven within the refuge of the valley. Glorfindel recognised it, despite never having been there. It was Pengolodh's library, built into a smaller space but as exact as any memory could be.

"Lost?" a murmur asked him, Erestor coming out from between the shelves with a pile of books in his hands.

"In time, perhaps," he answered. "It is remarkable." Erestor gave a quiet sigh.

"I could not resist taking a hand in this one room. Nothing else is replicated." Glorfindel followed him to the large table where another pile of books had been set.

"What became of him?"

"Pengolodh? He departed once Eregion fell. He never saw Imladris built, or agreed with my decision to come here." Glorfindel vaguely remembered Erestor being one of the Loremaster's numerous apprentices, there had been many young scribes such as him following Pengolodh around.

"Why was that?"

"A request from the Lady Galadriel is not lightly declined." Erestor had begun to sort through the books, handing the occasional one to Glorfindel who found himself a living shelf. "Was there something you needed?" Suddenly he remembered his idea.

"There was. The tongue of the Sindar is spoken here, which despite my best efforts I cannot speak as well as I should. Would there be some text here that I can borrow to help with that?" Erestor raised one eyebrow and shook his head.

"You cannot read Sindarin, unless your guards have taught you in the last few months. You can barely speak without swallowing your vowels. There is no book that will help with that." Glorfindel had known quite well that there would not be.

"Then perhaps you can point me in the direction of someone who would not mind taking the time to point out every fault I make."

"You know where to find your sister." That was where his plan faltered slightly. Isowen could teach him easily enough, and indeed she did. Yet that was not his goal.

"Can Isowen also speak Westron? I cannot see her taking the time to learn the language of orcs." He elicited a smirk from Erestor.

"Westron is the tongue of Men. It is called common, although it is not common to you. No, Isowen cannot." There was a pause as he leafed through the book in his hands before adding it to the ever growing pile Glorfindel was holding. "You are as transparent as glass. Come then, if you have naught else to do." Still carrying the pile of books, Glorfindel followed to the alcove containing two large armchairs and a low table. Erestor took the books, setting them back on shelves as they passed, knowing where each belonged without having to check.

"I do not want to be an annoyance," he said quickly.

"No, I have seen you and Ecthelion trying to be annoyances." They were almost there, so close to how they had been before, then Erestor's mouth set into a little hard line and it was lost. "You are not disturbing me."

"I am glad." Erestor sat down and Glorfindel tried to find a way to put him at ease again.

"Who taught you Sindarin in the first place? You came here knowing more than I would have expected."

"Artanis. She made me learn when we first reached the Sindar. She excelled, I did not."

"Clearly." Erestor had switched to Sindarin and Glorfindel was forced to follow it, although he noted that the pace slowed considerably. Hesten spoke more slowly to him, as did a few others. Maethor did not curb his quick tongue around him however. "I would leave Westron for a while."

"My tiny mind cannot handle two languages at once?"

"I have every confidence in your ability to grasp them. I do not think I could keep a straight face however. Westron has the unfortunate habit of using the same words as us to mean different things. Were you to try and ask about a gift, you would be talking about ants." It seemed a strange thing, that the Edain would use a language other than that of the Quendi, whose name meant speech after all.

"I have seen you keep a straight face, it is a gift of yours." Erestor smiled, only a tiny one but it was one small victory. Even Ecthelion could not make his cousin laugh, he had tried to during a lecture Pengolodh was giving, to no avail.

"Stop drawing out your i's, the Sindar are curt and brief."

"Is this more satisfactory?" Glorfindel asked. Erestor's bottom lip almost disappeared as he tried to keep quiet, despite the over-emphasised curt vowels.

"You sound ridiculous," he answered in Quenya.

"Sindarin sounds no better."

"Then you should hear Khuzdul. The dwarrow, they sound as if they are attempting to eat their teeth." It was a true smile that graced the thin lips that time.

"Whereas the Sindar settle for merely chewing their lips." Finally he received his wish and the quiet chuckle came.

"What makes you smile so?" asked Erestor. "You have not learnt any more than when you came."

"I did not come to learn, although you cannot seem to help but impart things. I came to make you laugh again, it has come to my attention that it is a rarity." Erestor stared at him blankly for a moment.

"You came to waste an afternoon simply to make me laugh?" Dumbly, Glorfindel nodded. Then, quietly, he heard the laugh again. "You- I have truly missed you, Fin."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

He pushed the covers away roughly, the comfort doing nothing to shield him from the heat of his dreams. The words on his ceiling seemed to be burning bright against the darkness and he rolled over, curling into his pillow but it made no difference. Still the fire lapped around him even though he was awake. Glorfindel tried to scramble up and get away from them, pulling himself upright with the help of the bedposts. He tried to cry out, drowning in the searing heat as smoke filled his mouth. Coughing he stumbled away from the fire. It was unlike any dream, the only shadows were those caused by the smoke that wrapped itself around him, tearing at his skin and stinging his eyes. The tears had already been prepared, fresh from the horrors of his nightmare and fell as acid down his face.

The crack of flames as something fell into them made him start, blinking at the fire. It was vivid, too real to be simply another dream. He had pulled himself along towards the door, unlatching it without thinking in his haste to get away from the blaze.

Outside the cool rushed to him, pulling him back with comforting hands, soothing whispers slowed his pounding heart. It kept tugging at him and the flames retreated, cool grass rising up to meet him. Gently the hands cupped his cheek, wiping his tears away.

"Fin?" He blinked, sucking in clean air to slow his breathing down. "Fin. Hush, you are safe." Bright brown eyes, reflecting the moonlight as they looked down at him brought him back to the moment. Erestor wiped his face clean with a sleeve. "Breathe." He was pushed into a sitting position with a thin arm wrapped around him shoulders. Glorfindel sought out the cool fabric and buried his face in it, shaking. The flames were as real as he remembered, the pain did not end with the nightmare.

"Glorfindel?" He shrank away from another hand that tugged at his shoulder, gasping lung-fulls of air through the fabric.

"Let him be, gwathel. He is in shock." The hand retreated. "Fin?" Slowly he pulled his head back, his breathing evening out.

"What- what happened?" he squeaked in Quenya.

"There was a fire, we do not know how yet but it spread to your room. Are you hurt?" Erestor's hands rubbed soothingly down his back, letting him curl up again.

"No- no, I do not think so." His face was examined, then his arms until Erestor was satisfied. The fire had been real, he thought slowly. His nightmare had come alive. "It is because of me-" he began.

"Fin?"

"The fire- It was my dream." His whole vision was suddenly filled by a gentle frown on the thin face as Erestor cupped his face.

"Your dream?" Erestor paused, looking around. "Come, let us get you inside, your clothes are ruined." He was pulled up onto his feet and ushered along, past other voices but he did not look up from where his feet stumbled along besides Erestor's. "Sit." He was placed gently on a long chair.

"Erestor," he whispered hoarsely, catching the hem of Erestor's tunic as he moved away. "I fell and the flames- they came up around me. They became real." The words refused to flow as his throat seized up, dry and stinging from smoke.

"No, Fin. This was not your doing. You were asleep, so deeply it did not wake you at first. Elrond and Nairn are trying to find out how it started, but it was not your dream that caused this. Here." A fresh tunic was pressed into his shaking hands. "Fin?"

"Was it real?" he asked.

"It was real." Erestor gave up on trying to make him change clothes, instead perching on the seat next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Do you wish to go back to sleep?" Glorfindel did his best to sit up straight and shake his head. They were silent, Erestor looking at him, concerned whilst he tried to stop his breath from hitching again. The rush of nervous energy from his nightmare had subsided, leaving his shoulders shaking and weak.

"It still haunts you," Erestor said quietly, a statement not a question.

"Every night." He stared at the empty hearth, glad that Erestor had not lit his fire that night. Glorfindel had never lit his hearth, he stayed away from candles if he could help it. "Does it go?"

"I still saw you fall for centuries, until a year ago almost. It does ease, slowly." He blinked in surprise.

"You saw me fall?" He had not thought of how Erestor would be affected by Eagle's Cleft, since he had lived.

"It ceased when you returned, for all that might mean. Come, Fin, you are as white as ice. There are still a few hours until dawn, you should rest. You have had a shock."

"No, please. I cannot have another nightmare." Instead he hesitated, half moving his head towards Erestor's shoulder. Gently it was pulled down further until he was almost in Erestor's arms.

"Then stay there. Elrond will find out how it began." Again a hand rubbed comforting circles down his back. They said nothing for hours as the sun rose, gradually leaning closer to each other slowly.

Finally Erestor made him move, sitting up to stretch his limbs.

"Do you want me to go and fetch you some clothes? The rooms should be safe to enter by now." But they would be burnt, he thought quietly. He had never seen the aftermath of a fire before.

"No, I can go." He stood up on surprisingly steady feet. "Thank you."

"Are you alright?" In the dawn light he saw how haunted Erestor looked.

"Yes. You look-" He stopped, sighing. Once again Erestor had had to pull someone away from flames. It was almost as if Erestor could hear his thoughts for he smiled sadly.

"Do not mind me, Fin. As long as you are well." Erestor opened the door to the corridor, revealing Isowen's raised hand.

"Oh! Glorfindel? There you are." She rushed past the darker elf, clasping her brother to her. "It is terrible. Why have you not changed? Your clothes are all black and charred!" He hugged her back, aware that she had as many demons that revolved around fire as Erestor did.

"Does Elrond know what occurred?" asked Erestor. With Isowen following them they made their way back towards his rooms.

"He has not told me. It was not your fault, Glor, there was no lit hearth in your room." The corridor was blocked off by Hesten standing guard in front of sheets covered the ruined paintings and walls.

"Elrond is in the second room, it is safe to go on in," Hesten told them. "He and Maethor are still seeking the source of the flames. He asked for you both." Isowen carried on walking with them and he offered no objection.

It was not Glorfindel's room they entered first, instead Elrond and Maethor were standing in the doorway of the second set of chambers. Glorfindel looked at the once intricate tapestry that hung, abashed on the smoke stained wall.

"Harelian and Erchamel's chambers," Erestor whispered quietly. A child's toy sword caught Glorfindel's attention as it poked out from the next room. "They escaped along with their daughter, Myra."

"Glorfindel, it is good to see that you are unharmed," said Elrond with a brief smile.

"What have you found so far?" Glorfindel stepped back as Erestor looked around. The burnt rooms seemed so dull and peaceful after the terror of the night, irreconcilable with the flames.

"Perhaps if you had been here sooner we would not have to go over it again," answered Maethor. "It was begun in the cupboard, the door has caved in."

"It was deliberate then." Erestor's words hung in the stained air.

"Maethor, I believe it is time to detain Harelian and Erchamel," Elrond murmured. "Erestor, if you could ask Nairn and Laiken to come here. It seems we once again need their skills to organise the architects." There was a sadness there, but a resigned one and Glorfindel frowned as all three of them looked at him in turn. Elrond's sigh was one of pity, Maethor's eyes held a dull scorn.

"It is not-" Isowen began.

"I will not make a judgement until I am certain," answered Elrond.

"Yet it appears to be the case," she said. "Go and change, Glor, if there is nothing that has not been ruined." He had missed something, in the way that Erestor refused to look at him suddenly and the slight hint of guilt Maethor let slip through. Only the tiny shake of Erestor's head made him leave for he would not get answers from them standing there.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

He had changed, finding a green tunic and grey leggings that had been in a pile on the side of the room untouched by the flames. He did not feel too much regret at the things that were ruined, for the most part only his possessions for a few months. His sword was unharmed, as were the clothes from the ship and in one pocket, the tiny seed that he hoped had not been damaged by smoke.

"Are you alright?" Isowen asked, knocking gently on his door. She sat on his bed, smiling sadly at the ashen covers.

"I think so," he answered. He was tired, still shaking and nervous in the room where he still smelt fire. "I cannot tell."

"Fear, Glorfindel, perhaps you have not encountered that here yet?"

"Perhaps." He had felt fear too often, every night in the darkness and now in the light as he looked at the stained walls.

"Glorfindel?" Gently she slipped an arm around him and hugged him. "Elrond will punish those who did this, Imladris is a safe home for us." Still it haunted him, that fire could find him in Elrond's haven.

"Who is this Harelian?" he asked Isowen quietly as he laced his boots. "Why does she mean me harm? If it was her who lit the flames."

"I do not know, but Erestor will find out why." Her trust at once made him smile and thrust a dagger in his chest. She had no trust in him, he was still an estranged creature to her, some weak albino foal to be cared for. It was Erestor she trusted to make her problems go away, to be her brother.

"Then they will know wrath," Isowen added with venom. "Come, if you wish, Elrond will tell us what is become of them." He followed her out of the room and down the hall, the walls gradually getting less and less fire damaged until they were past the abandoned chair Hesten no longer guarded.

Erestor met them as they reached Elrond's council chambers, a large volume in his hands.

"Elrond wishes for it all to be over at once," he said, nodding to the book. "He bade me act as lawyer."

"Let us get this over with, then," Isowen murmured and entered the chamber. Elrond and Gilotor were sat at the table, Maethor standing guard by the two chairs occupied by a dark haired Ellon and a blonde elleth. Erestor took his place at Elrond's side, offering Glorfindel a chair. He preferred to stand ready, facing the two elves from across the room. Isowen stood next to him, whether for comfort or to protect him from the barely contained malice in the elleth's eyes.

"Harelian and Erchamel. The fire last night was found to have started in your chambers. It was no accident. We would hear what you have to say on this," Elrond said slowly, his tone calm.

"The only accident is that he is still breathing," the elleth spat. Glorfindel stared her down, he had faced worse than a hate filled glare. A blank face slipped onto his features, he refused to let himself seem shaken or upset. He managed to get a grip on his emotions enough to stand still and face them both down.

"Then you do not deny deliberately setting the fire?" asked Erestor.

"I do not."

"And you, Erchamel?" Elrond turned to her husband.

"Of this I had no part," he answered with a dull, almost placid voice. His dark eyes never left the spot they stated at on the table, his shoulders almost hunched over.

"Tell us of your quarrel with Glorfindel," said Elrond. "Then we will make our judgement."

"You give shelter to a murderer, to one of the old sinners of Alqualondë. The realms of the Noldor burnt once, so they shall again." Next to him he felt Isowen stiffen in anger. "It is unnatural. No good can come from having a spectre such as that here." Glorfindel did not take a liking to being called a spectre, yet doubts took root. Elrond and Erestor had made him welcome, Maethor had warmed to him yet this sentiment was there. It surprised him, and it pained him.

Elrond was silent for a while before looking first at Erestor who nodded, then Gilotor. The advisor took his time in answering. Eventually, though, Gilotor too nodded.

"Harelian, by the laws of this land we sentence you to two centuries of exile for arson and attempted murder." Elrond sighed, hesitating. "However, we are loath to part you from your family. Therefore although you are exiled from Imladris we will not extend that to the King's lands." Harelian's face was strained but she nodded slowly.

"You may leave if you wish, Erchamel, but your place here is assured. Maethor." Harelian stood without being made to, Erchamel following suit. They were led out, past Isowen who gave them both a state that could pierce walls with shards of ice.

Glorfindel turned at once to the three lords at the table.

"I was not aware my presence caused upset," he said quietly. "You had but to say, my lords." Elrond put up his hand to stop him but it was Gilotor who spoke.

"I can assure you, no others share her views. Even Erchamel does not." It rested uneasily within him, that he could elicit such hate from Elrond's folk. Alqualondë was not too far at the back of his mind, it could never be forgotten.

"Harelian remembers the sacking of Sirion," Erestor murmured.

"Which does not excuse her actions," said Elrond as he stood up. "All those in Imladris are under the protection of the King's laws and they must be upheld." Elrond crossed to the wide doors looking out onto an empty courtyard garden, a pleasant sight and private for the other rooms leading onto it we're unused meeting chambers as well. "Do not offer to leave, Glorfindel," Eärendil's son told him. "If Imladris cannot be a refuge from those who have no other home, then it does not do its duty. I just see her leave. Erestor."

They left, closing the door behind them to leave Gilotor to close and collect the law books on the table.

"You must not think yourself hated here," he said with his back to them. "Some cannot let go of the past."

"As well we know," answered Isowen coldly.

"For good reason did Erestor bid you hide your name. It is too late now. I promise you, Isowen, Harelian alone remembers."

"As do I." It was his mother speaking in the guise of her daughter's voice, the same steel that made Glorfindel blink. She swept out in one fluid movement.

"I will find you another room," Gilotor said. "It is no fitting welcome for one such as you."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

He sat on the narrow balcony outside the room Gilotor had moved him to, his legs hanging through the carved vine railings. It overlooked the waterfall, sheer cliffs stretched out below him to the turbulent river at the valley floor. The noise of the rushing water soothed him from the agitated state the fire had left him in. He had stayed away from the other inhabitants, keeping to his room out of fear that the hate in Harelian's eyes would be shared by others.

"Glor?" Isowen's voice asked through the door. She let herself in without knocking, as she had always done as a child. He smiled sadly at that. "You are hiding from everyone," she said accusingly as she sat down next to him, her legs poking out past the edge of the balcony too.

"I am not as used to it as you," he said quietly. "I am not used to anything."

"This was the first time it has happened here. In Lindon the Sindar almost always brought it up. Yet here, it is not so. Perhaps because Elrond saw the sacking of Sirion too and there are none of the House of Fëanor here."

"Yet before, you faced hatred for something you cannot remember?" She shrugged.

"Erestor kept our home quiet, especially once Idril and Tuor had left us. Soon he was simply another one of Pengolodh's pupils again and I was no one." How different things would have been had he been there, he thought. His sister would not have had to rely on Idril or Erestor for her safety.

"We are strangers now, you and I," he said quietly.

"I have missed you. Not a day went by that our thoughts did not go to Gondolin."

"It is so recent."

"Recent? It has been nearly two millennia." Isowen paused, frowning. "To you it is nothing."

"To me it was a life time, each moment stretching out for eternity yet as soon as I awoke it was gone, a dream that seemed to span all night yet only lasted a second." He flexed his hands, once more remembering the feeling of regaining them.

"You will not settle in if you hide away, Glor. Come out, no one hates you."

"A ghost," he murmured, hardly listening to her. "A spectre."

"No- no. You are not a spectre. Impossible, certainly. A miracle even, but you are no spectre. There is nothing evil about your return." Her golden eyes went wide in earnest. "The wise have gathered around you and not seen a shadow. You are here for a good purpose, although what it is you do not say." There was an undertone of annoyance there as she hungered for a knowledge he could not give.

He smiled at her, wondering when she became so wise. So too did he wonder what would have become of Maltion, had he lived. To see one twin but not the other was heart-breaking, to see dawn but never live until dusk.

"Come out?" Isowen asked gently. "I believe Erestor is fretting over your absence, he asks after you."

"As well as coming each day." Glorfindel did not realise he had been thinking aloud until she laughed.

"He used to fret over me, each scrape or bruise. Not quite this much, I think." Their eyes met and he struggled not to blush. "It seems to me that he is lighter of spirit lately, and does not wander at night so much."

"Sleepwalking?" She nodded.

"None of us slept at first, apart from Eärendil. He often used to walk away from our camp, Pengolodh would scold him when he did. It was strange, in all else Pengolodh never cared for him, he was only angered of Erestor wandered off." Glorfindel could never understand the two sides to the lore master, one he showed the world, the calm and helpful scholar, the side his pupils saw was colder, harsh yet even back then all had loved him for some reason.

"Is it a newfound friendship?" she asked him in a teasing tone. "He is the image of Ecthelion."

"No." Glorfindel sighed as it came out too forcefully. "They are nothing alike." Where Thel had leapt head first into anything, and died because of it, Erestor would not even breathe before he had thought long and hard about it and decided it was a good plan. Ecthelion was the twin brother Glorfindel had envied Isowen for, and just as she had, he had lost him. "It is no newfound love, Isowen." For that was what it was, he knew. It had been born in Gondolin, a tiny bud of something strong that had not been diminished by the darkness. At least not to him. Yet everything was new and overwhelming again and he did not know how things stood.

"Love?" she almost squeaked, looking away. "I think you are mistaken, Glor." Something heavy in his chest fell onto the floor. Isowen stood up quickly. "Come, it is almost supper time."

"I am not hungry." He was assigned the night guard in a few hours with Hesten and the others.

"Do not sulk," she snapped at him, a strong hand pulling him up. "They died in Gondolin, that is all he has ever said. If it had been you, would he not have told me?" Perhaps not, he thought, some hope being rekindled at her logic. Erestor had no reason to care for Isowen, he had barely known her and Idril would have taken her into her care as her cousin. Glorfindel knew that if their places had been switched, he would have taken Edwengwend, Erestor's sister as his own.

"Perhaps," he answered and followed her out. In a way, it mattered little whether Erestor returned his feelings as he had done in Gondolin, some things had to change even for the Eldar. Glorfindel was content to try and live, which was proving hard enough when the flames lapped around his every thought, pulling him back down.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

He made himself stay in the Hall of Fire after supper, standing close to the windows so that his view was of the moonlit gardens rather than the hearths or the other elves present. The music no longer overwhelmed him, he had begun to learn some of the sagas by ear.

"Someone is playing yours, I believe," Elrond murmured as he came to stand by him. "Across the hall." Glorfindel merely nodded. He could not reconcile the fire with the idea that they would sing songs in which he was the hero.

"You should listen. It may convince you that you are welcome here."

"I am truly sorry for the evils inflicted upon your people, Elrond."

"Sirion? You are no more to blame than I. As for, before, I have my Father's reassurances that you did all you could to stop it." Idril's support had gone a long way it seemed. Glorfindel knew he should still have done more at Alqualondë.

"My Lord! Elrond!" Maethor pushed his way through those gathered in the hall, parting them neatly in two. "A company of orcs have passed the first outposts. Five hundred were counted."

"Assemble the full guard." Glorfindel was moving immediately, before Elrond had even given the orders. The entire hall had suddenly fallen silent, those who formed part of the guard vanishing towards their rooms.

Isowen was in the rank behind him as they formed up in the courtyard, twelve lines of cavalry and as many on foot. Asfaloth followed Hesten's bay obediently along the causeway. It was no simple patrol, yet it was not quite an army that left the valley. There were still those capable of fighting left behind, Elrond and Erestor among them. Should the eight dozen elves not succeed in protecting their valley, they were not the last line of defence. He would have preferred his sister to remain safe, yet was reminded that she was better used to fighting the war against the orcs than he was.

There was a different feeling in the air beyond the ford, no longer did it have the serene quality Imladris excluded. A scout rode up to Maethor, inaudible over the sound of hooves.

"Laiken! The west path." A third of their force broke away under Laiken, turning right along the river. Glorfindel rode on until Maethor ordered them to a halt.

"Another company has been sighted," the elleth next to him murmured. Glorfindel knew what he would do, were it him in Maethor's place. He would be circling around to outflank the orcs using their cavalry, instead they rode straight out towards them in a full on charge.

Asfaloth bore down on the hastily forming Orc lines, keeping in rank perfectly behind Hesten. He lowered his lance and the elves collided with the orcs. Blood pounded through his ears, rushing like the wind that accompanied them so that he was almost deaf to the howls of falling orcs and the screams of horses as they thundered across the flat land beside the river. His lance snapped in an orc's chest and he pulled out his sword, cleaving a helmet in two.

It blurred, yet at the same time was as clear as ice. Each move was planned in the rush of the moment, each stroke measured. Then Maethor was turning, having broken through the ranks of the orcs and lost the momentum their charge had given them. They banked sharply, the orcs seeming to multiply around them.

"Back to the ford!" The second company was upon them, bearing down from the west as they were routed by Laiken. Glorfindel found himself riding alongside Maethor, falling behind the rest of the cavalry as they retreated towards the ford. The orcs followed in pursuit, jeering at them as if they had succeeded in a rout. Already Laiken and Hesten were forming up the ranks again beyond the river, archers at the ready to decimate the orcs. Maethor pulled ahead of Asfaloth, jumping half the river where Glorfindel was more cautious in the unfamiliar terrain. The orcs spilled over the bank, flanking him and threatening to cut him off from his fellows.

Water hit his face, cold and hard as Asfaloth bounded into the river. He could feel the power flowing around them, they were too far upstream for it to really have counted as part of the ford.

"Glorfindel!" The orcs entered the river, he could feel them disturbing the water. Anger and desperation roared in his ears, mingled with the noise of the river. He sensed it rising up, swelling into thunder. A solid wall crashed into him painlessly, passing him by as if he was nothing more than a shade.

"Glorfindel?" The water surge vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him dripping wet but still in place on Asfaloth's back. The horse trotted forwards, out of the river to where Isowen was staring at him in shock. Suddenly he looked behind him for the orcs but saw nothing.

"Glor! What happened? What did you do?" He was not aware he had done anything, or he could not pinpoint acting on the river.

"It matters not. Hesten, take the day guard and check the boundary. Glorfindel, come with me," Maethor ordered curtly. The stares of the others hit him as he passed through their ranks. As one body the elves turned, cantering back towards their valley.

Glorfindel tried to think back to exactly what had happened in the river, absently flexing his hand.

"Glor, stop that," Isowen whispered. "It is making everyone else nervous." Following her gaze he folded his hands onto his lap, stroking Asfaloth's neck gently.

Maethor strode off, leaving Glorfindel to hurry along behind him towards Elrond's office. He slowed down only to knock. Elrond, Erestor and Nairn were standing looking out of the window, their frowns staying in place when they turned around. Only Erestor's broke into a softer smirk of exasperation.

"I should have known this had something to do with you," he said quietly. "Exactly what did you do, Fin?"

"He caused the river to flood, drowning the entire orc company." Maethor's tone was somewhere between awed and angry.

"The waterfall was affected too," said Elrond, looking at him curiously. "How did you manage that? No, I have a better question. Could you repeat it?" Erestor's reassuring look told him he knew exactly what Elrond was planning.

"My lords, I suggest we return to the river."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen****  
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The ground was wet, almost marshy around the river. The flood had receded without leaving a trace of the orcs, only the sodden earth hinted at what had happened.

Glorfindel sat on the river bank, having found the line where the water had come to and managing to stay dry. Elrond was staring upstream with a frown, Maethor standing guard as if expecting more orcs to come. Only Erestor seemed unsurprised, something akin to amusement hiding just out of sight.

"I did not explain that particularly well, did I?" Glorfindel asked him quietly. His talk of sensing the water and the orcs stepping into it contained little logic.

"Elrond understands enough." At least someone did. "Is there anything else we ought to know? You come here glowing and with the ability to raise a flood at will, may we expect the sun to suddenly be eclipsed or summer snow?" Erestor perched on the ground beside him.

"I do not glow," Glorfindel said defensively. "That is beyond ridiculous." Nonetheless he looked down at his hands to assure himself of the fact. There did not appear to be any unnatural light radiating from them yet Erestor's barely concealed smirk made him doubt his eyes on that account. Elrond returned to them slowly, examining the ground.

"My thanks, Glorfindel. You appear to have just handed us a protective barrier as if from Ulmo himself." Elrond smiled and nodded to Maethor.

"That does not deserve a frown," murmured Erestor. Their eyes met for the longest of moments before his ebony ones widened. "Oh." Gondolin had been protected by Ulmo, or so they thought, the hidden valley revealed to Turgon in a dream.

"Come," Glorfindel said quietly. They followed Elrond back towards Imladris. Gently Erestor took his arm and they both did their best to push Gondolin from their thoughts.

"Come and listen?" Erestor murmured as they entered the courtyard. "It is time you listened to them." Glorfindel's curiosity had been piqued, yet he had not gone and listened to the lays of Gondolin. Perhaps, he thought sadly, it was out of fear that they would confirm that his home was indeed gone. He gave a shallow nod, for it was Erestor asking him now and he felt obliged. If Erestor could bear to hear them then he could listen too.

For the first time since his arrival in Imladris Erestor sat with him at one of the lower tables. The rules of place which had once seemed to rigid he was beginning to notice did not really apply to anyone except Elrond whose place was set. The high table was more for those who wished to speak to him than a place of honour on most days. Whilst Maethor watched with an almost steely gaze from across the room, Erestor joined the table primarily made up of his guards without comment.

"How are the primroses?" he asked one of the archers.

"If anyone can remind them they are supposed to grow, I would be very much obliged." No guard was simply a guard, they were also gardeners, cooks, artists, each one doubling up as the number of people needed to run the household exceeded those living there.

"I will write them a memorandum," Hesten murmured dryly.

"Was the cloak salvageable?" the archer asked and the table broke out into quiet laughter at a story Glorfindel had missed.

"If by salvageable you mean repairable then yes, I would hardly say returned to its former condition." Erestor's smile came through in his voice even if his expression remained the same.

"Some wounds cannot be healed." Another round of laughter erupted as the archer shrugged. "It was superficial."

Maethor's dislike of Erestor was not reciprocated in his guards. Glorfindel found himself watching his companion carefully, waiting for a laugh. It did not come, only a thin smile could be extracted and he remembered Hesten's words. It seemed that any real emotion was reserved and he could not help but smile himself at that, feeling privileged.

Elrond led them out as always, the household spilling into the Hall of the Fire in a buzz of conversation. Second thoughts plagued Glorfindel. To hear the sagas of his friends' deeds seemed at once too moving and verging on the disrespectful. A light weight knocked his side as Erestor passed, pulling him back into the present. They both put on a smile for the other and he followed to the side of a circle that had gathered around a minstrel. Glorfindel pulled a chair into place and offered it to Erestor.

"Do not distress yourself," he murmured as he sat down. "I would not want to force you to hear something upsetting." Erestor sighed quietly, appearing to be having second thoughts on asking him to listen. "It lays them to rest, somehow." Glorfindel merely nodded and placed his hands either side of Erestor's neck on the back of the chair, not quite touching his shoulders.

It was melancholy, the song to Ecthelion, and far too mournful for him. The bard had neglected to mention the bright, mischievous life that had been extinguished in the fountain, focussing instead on the irony of it and the heroism of such an act. It seemed as if that was not what Erestor had had in mind to begin with either, it was no great saga but rather a slow lament. Then the minstrel caught Glorfindel's eye and smiled. He looked away quickly, uncomfortable at being noticed. His embarrassment faded when the music began.

"Fin?" It was the cool hand on his wrist that broke him from his thoughts.

"My breastplate was red," he said with a half frown, smiling lightly. "And the first wound was not as bad as it looked." Erestor's breath hitched for a moment uncertainly before he sighed.

"I shall have to be careful and not develop your ego," he murmured and Glorfindel laughed, feeling a weight lift from him. It hurt, to hear the songs as if his friends' deaths and their suffering were nothing more than tales, but it sanitised it somehow and cleaned the wound.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

The situation, it appeared, was worsening. Glorfindel was not aware of how the situation had been beforehand, he only knew that now it constituted as dire. Certainly the patrols met orcs more and more frequently. He was unused to things changing so quickly, he had not counted each season twice since his return. After his stunt with the river he was elevated, to Maethor's obvious distaste, within the ranks of the guards. He was never named as a lieutenant as Hesten was, but he began to feel others looking to him to take the lead.

"Why is it that you dislike Maethor?" he asked Erestor quietly as they made an attempt at a language lesson, Glorfindel pretending to look at the runes when his gaze was better occupied by the long fingered hand that was writing them out. They had given up on looking studious in the library and moved to the gardens where they were spread on the grass, all the more distracting as birds inquired curiously as to what they were doing.

"He dislikes you as well. Perhaps you should ask yourself that." Erestor handed him the paper to read.

"I have a feeling they are linked," answered Glorfindel wryly. "A hollow crown beneath the trees, sapphires are all the child sees. I must learn to read things other than poetry." It was apparent that the only material they used to teach him Sindarin was Erestor's favourite literature. "You did not answer my question."

"He resents my position."

"Yet serves under a Noldo lord? Do not do me the disservice of lying to me." Erestor abandoned his quill, shifting his legs so that he was no longer really sitting but lying on the grass.

"That is the truth. I was close to Lord Oropher, which was not popular after Sirion for I am not Sindar. Yet he took me in like a brother and bade me go with him to the east. Maethor was one of the many who resented how high a Noldo could rise within their ranks. Now he must share authority with me, and it is not clearly divided." Glorfindel was acutely aware of the hand that had twitched as if to catch hold of the golden tress that hung down near it, of how close Erestor had come to forgetting their barriers and touching him. He had another question, why would Erestor not go with a king and friend but he did not have chance to ask.

"Now tell me why he dislikes you." Glorfindel sighed.

"For the same reasons as Harelian?" The threat of another fire woke him with increasing frequency, reminding him that even Imladris was not safe.

"No. He does not hate the Noldor, simply that I had a place beside a Sindar lord."

"His dislike is because-" Suddenly he could not find the correct term for them. "Because we are friends." Erestor gave out a tiny sigh and sat up.

"I must go," he said with a sombre tone. Glorfindel reached out too quickly to catch his wrist.

"Have they told you of the expedition?" Erestor's face darkened as he nodded. It was planned to take three months, Maethor was to lead a large company north to scour the mountains of orcs.

"You leave this evening, as does Isowen." There was pain in his eyes, and fear. Glorfindel stood slowly, realising what it presented for Erestor. In one stroke he could lose the girl who was as good as his sister, and someone Glorfindel hoped meant just as much.

"Be careful, Fin. You do not know the mountains and-" Erestor broke off, unable to finish. "I must go." Glorfindel was left in the empty garden with the scrap of paper and poetry book by his feet. He stooped to pick them up but thought better of following Erestor immediately, saving his excuse to say goodbye.

Hesten was lounging, and it was his speciality Glorfindel had learned, outside his room.

"My apologies, were you waiting for me?" asked Glorfindel, opening the door for them both.

"Only a moment. I have a bag for you, Nairn bade me give it to you. She remembered you had nothing suitable for such a long venture." Hesten handed him the large saddle bag. "We have three hours and I was looking for an excuse to leave the barracks. I was caught in the madness therein." Glorfindel began to stuff in his clothes and the other supplies he had to take. Hesten was absently turning over a green medallion in his hands as he leaned against the bedpost. His token, most had them. A tiny reminder of those left behind, a jewel or ribbon or some such trinket. They acted as a safeguard against despair but also as a promise of return.

His saddlebag packed Glorfindel turned to his armour, looking at it for a moment with nostalgia. It was not the bright burnished gold and red he had once worn, instead it was blue and gold, the colours of Lindon he was told. It was generic, patched together from what was already in the armoury rather than made for him. He kept it immaculate, he did not care to lose his life again trough laziness. It was not, however, truly his and although none could fault his care of the metal and fabric, he did not love it as he had once lavished hours on the armour Rog has crafted for him.

He followed Hesten out to the training yard to warm up before hours in the saddle, and to dispel any nerves. Three months was nothing, he reminded himself and beat back at the blows his partner sent his way. He could move his feet now and Hesten no longer stood a chance.

"I suggest it is time we go and change," Hesten said regretfully. "And also say our farewells." Glorfindel decided not to answer the smirk shot in his direction, sheathing his sword as if it took his whole attention. Hesten disappeared, Glorfindel did not bother to see where to and walked alone to his room where his assigned armour sat. The soft padding was light, more of a shield against the metal that threatened to chafe at his joints without it. He pulled the ribbed breastplate on, fumbling for a moment with the straps before the thin, palm like scales were in place. His hair went up in simple braids to keep it back and he fastened his sword belt again, a habit he had not lost, the need to make sure it was there imprinted even though his body had changed.

With one hand he took his bag, with the other Erestor's book. Perhaps it was childish but he kept the tiny scrap of paper with the couplet written on, tucked safely within his tunic. Decked out as if for war, he made his way towards Erestor's office. He left his gauntlets in his bag, holding the book as gently as its owner would. With the back of his hand he knocked on the open door's frame. Erestor looked up from his desk, sharp surprise flickering across his face.

"That looks strange," he said simply. Glorfindel nodded, no doubt it did since he had always been renowned for the colouring of his armour.

"I came to return this." Erestor's lips twitched in a half smile as he took the book.

"Hannon le." They were, Glorfindel noted, marginally closer than necessary.

"We will return before the snows." He gave a cheery smile and inclined his head. "Navaer." He turned, unsure if that was all that was to be said.

"Fin-" A hand caught his chest, lightly stopping him. For a second it seemed as if Erestor might move towards him, but he stepped away. "May the stars watch over you." His second nod was stiffer and it required more self-control to simply walk away at that.

"Ready?" Isowen called from her grey stallion. Glorfindel mounted Asfaloth, slipping into rank beside Hesten.

"Naturally." It elicited a few laughs, the banter rising up amiably around him until Elrond and Maethor appeared.

"We shall expect you before the snows return," Glorfindel overheard the Peredhel tell his Captain. "Or else I shall be forced to send Erestor out to look for you." Maethor nodded, smiling with a forced dark humour.

"Mount up!" Those who had not done so mounted, last farewells called before silence reigned and Maethor led the formation. They saluted Elrond with their swords then rode out of the courtyard, across the bridge. As they turned, Glorfindel glanced up through the branches of the apple tree to the wide window behind. The movement inside made him smile, it was that of someone stepping hastily away from their vantage point.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

He thanked the Valar for caves. The reprieve and safety they offered at night, shelter from the storms and bands of orcs. The purge had quickly turned into an extended game of cat and mouse game in which they did not always have the upper hand. It was a miscalculation of the numbers of orcs in the northern mountains that led to their disadvantage. Whilst they had superior skill, the overwhelming mass of enemies they encounters whittled their force away; each victory did not seem to have an impact. No matter how thoroughly they destroyed the companies they encountered another two took their place the next morning.

"The snows will come within the week," Hesten murmured as he leaned his head gently against Glorfindel's shoulder. They were both exhausted, each watch they took threatened to be the straw that broke their backs. "I can smell it." Glorfindel could sense the weather turning as well, his mind replaying their journey through the passes and cataloguing which would fill with snow first. He did not voice his apprehension however, no captain did that and he had once been a captain. Hesten stretched and sat up, looking longingly at the others asleep within the cave. It was their first real shelter since leaving Imladris, for two nights they had managed to sleep peacefully. Elves may not feel the temperature but it disturbed their sleep and unprotected out on the mountain side they could not rest easily for fear of attack.

Glorfindel slipped out from under Hesten's head to look at the moon. He judged it to be slightly after midnight and time to change the watch. One half of the pair he was supposed to wake had already unfurled herself and was looking at him with luminous brown eyes. Even with the safety of the cave it seemed not all could sleep soundly.

"Come on," he whispered to Hesten, nudging the other guard gently awake. "My apologies." He curled up, scabbard in hand and was asleep in moments, almost before Hesten had settled a few feet away.

It seemed to him that he had barely closed his eyes before a shout woke him. Half of them were standing before they even knew what was going on. The sentries ran in, each collared by Maethor before they could take a few steps.

"Two hundred coming from below, another hundred from above." They had less than half that and the orcs knew the mountains better than they did now they had strayed beyond the normal borders of Imladris. It was entirely possible that they had another force converging on their position that they were unaware of.

"Form up!" The horses were retrieved from the depths of the cave, mounted and their camp was broken quickly. Glorfindel handed Isowen her bow, receiving one last smile before the ranks separated them.

"He is abandoning our only defensible position," she whispered.

"He has spent too long guarding a valley and has had enough of it," Glorfindel answered. It was a shame Maethor craved a fully pitched battle, he was a master of keep defence. He was as good as Ecthelion, possibly. Glorfindel knew he could never plan a defence as Maethor could, hence he had been given the market rather than the gate in Gondolin.

It was a quick rush to find level ground they could turn and stand on, cavalry needing the height advantage. In the passes the smell of orc was strong and stagnant. It was the sound that alerted them to the company to their left. Blind corners lay in front and Maethor called to ready bows.

They felled the first ranks before the orcs were even aware they had arrived. Glorfindel loosened another shaft as he collided with the ranks. Then the small bow was returned to the strap on his back and he had Aulë's sword in his hands, cleaving the foul creatures in two almost without thought. The elves cut through the orcs as if they were water around an oar.

"Circle around!" Maethor ordered and those who had broken through to the far side turned, briefly forming a wave that hit the orcs in the back with stinging blows. "Regrou-" The shout was cut short and Glorfindel turned on Asfaloth's back to look for the red haired elf.

"Keep going!" he told the others quickly, waving Hesten on. They could not afford to stop. The rout came quickly, the orcs turning to stream out of the pass the way they had come. Glorfindel raised his sword and charged after them, aware that the majority of the others were followed him closely. The mountains rose around them, the dried stream bed treacherously rocky under their horses' hooves.

Eventually he halted Asfaloth, knowing that they could not hunt down every orc. Instead he turned around, his companions doing the same and returned to the pass where the they were lining up the dead and gathering the wounded. Immediately Glorfindel realised he had lost sight of not only Maethor but Hesten as well.

"Glorfindel!" Their chief archer waved him over to where Isowen and another healer were crouched over a prone form. Hesten had an orcish arrow firmly embedded in his leg.

"Maethor?" Glorfindel asked the archer quietly as he bent down to take his friend's hand and keep him quiet as the healers pushed the arrowhead through the flesh.

"Dead," she told him simply. The world almost fell quiet, as if Hesten's whimper of pain was nothing and the mountains gave out an oppressive moan.

"You do not have a choice, Glor," Isowen said as she leaned across him to wrap Hesten's leg tightly. "Stand up." He did not move, looking around for another of the lieutenants who could lead them back. Hesten was barely conscious, their chief archer watching him apprehensively. After a quick head count he realised that there was no one else. Still he did not stand up.

"Valar condemn you, Glor! Stand up!" If he had not been looking at her, Glorfindel could have been forgiven for thinking the ghost of his mother had been returned to bully him into moving. "That is why you are here!" Isowen had resorted to reaching out silently, her thoughts ringing as they crashed into his. No one had dared since his return.

It was the sound of shouting, scouts running back along the pass that made him stand. Whether he thought it prudent or not someone had to lead them back to shelter.

"Get the wounded on horses!" He called, hating himself for what he was about to presume to order them to do.

"And the dead?" Erestor's archer friend, the one with the primroses asked.

"We do not have a choice. Another company of orcs are converging on us, we must get to shelter until sunrise." Then the orcs would retreat, hiding away from the sun and they could make their way back.

Asfaloth nuzzled Hesten's prone form as they mounted, Isowen leading the bay she had lain Hesten across. Their formation was appalling but the scouts knew their place and Glorfindel could not have asked for better as they kept up a fast pace through the pass.

"Yrch!" Orcs, the scouts shouted.

"Archers!" Glorfindel rode forward along with the majority of those unscathed by the last encounter. They did not have many wounded, he noted. Enough to make their already diminished force vulnerable.

"Isowen, take all those now behind me and make for the lowlands. We will hold them off!" He turned to the archer. "You are free to take command." She shook her head.

"They are nothing compared to balrogs." That brought him up short for a heartbeat. He had not even thought of Eagles' Cleft until then, the rush of the moment keeping him firmly in the present. How hard he wished she had not mentioned it. He was no hero, he had been nothing more than a desperate boy trying to defend his friends.

"Then forwards," he heard himself say with Turgon's voice.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Like blossom the snow carpeted the grass softly, a dusting that settled finely on every surface. Imladris was not built for harsh winters, it could shut itself up and retreat to the fireside but it was an open place, long colonnades and too many balconies instead of insulated corridors. In the shelter of the valley the snow never formed drifts; many winters had passed them by almost unnoticed.

Erestor noted each flurry, watching as the snowflakes drifted past his window to collect on the balcony and coat the apple tree. The snow barely covered the ground, giving it a threadbare look and only the stone work was idyllic in its frosty cloak. There was no wind to turn it into childish swirls, each flake falling exactly where its predecessor had landed. It would be a different story in the mountains. For the guard the snow would be heavy, great sheets pelting their faces as their feet were dragged out from under them. The wind would tear at their cloaks and soak them as their bodies melted what stuck to them. They would be forced to climb over drifts, leading frozen horses down lethal slopes.

He knew the cold, it was his childhood companion, it walked with all of those who had crossed the ice and no fire could lift it from their memories save that of revenge. Ice and fire had shaped the first adult thoughts he recalled, before that a hazy light that was half an infant's dream half a long vanished reality. Fin would know the cold too, he would remember the sorry marching songs they had tried to muster up before lapsing into silence. Somewhere, far to the east, Oropher would still remember the chill of the sunless day when darkness crashed down and stole their world from them.

The guard had not returned. Every second the snow fell stretched out for eternity yet passed all too quickly so that before he knew it two days had passed and still no one returned.

"Elrond," he said quietly as he heard the gentle footsteps come up to his door. He did not need to ask if there had been a rider, he would have seen any that had come.

"I must ask you a question, Mellon nîn," murmured Elrond. All without either of them taking their eyes from the road he sat down at the chair Erestor pushed out for him. "I admitted Glorfindel on your word alone, it is time you told me who he is to you." Curiosity at the time was understandable, to be expected and Erestor had headed it off when Glorfindel first arrived. Now, Elrond had a new reason for asking.

"Has he not proven himself many times over? With the power he showed over the river could he not have wreaked what havoc he wished long before now?" Elrond place a calming hand on his elbow and Erestor sighed somewhat ruefully, noting that rise in tension in his voice.

"I do not doubt him, not now if I ever did. I have seen-" Elrond trailed off just as he caught Erestor's full attention.

"What have you seen?" he asked, turning to his friend. "Elrond?" A troubled frown sat heavily on the Peredhel's brow and for a long time he did not answer. Erestor sighed.

"We were close, in Gondolin," he told Elrond quietly. "Even that is not the correct term. I loved him. It was as if my soul was ripped away from me when he fell into the fire, I had lost so much that day, he was all I had left then they took him as well." He straightened his shoulders, aware that whilst talking he had folded in on himself. Elrond looked thoughtful rather than consoling.

"And now you look for his return again," he murmured.

"Second chances never come in this world, Elrond, for them we must wait or go west to seek them out." He was not ready to admit anything to Glorfindel just yet, when he still looked at the blond elf in surprise, amazed that such a miracle was possible. It was not through confusion that he looked away more quickly than he liked, it was fear. A deep rooted and in his mind perfectly rational fear of losing that which has once been taken from him.

"What have you seen?" Worry clawed at his stomach a beast he had swallowed that was now fighting for its freedom. Elrond's gift of foresight had an unnerving accuracy that demanded to be heeded, all whilst being as imprecise as a drunken arrow.

"A battle, where or why I cannot say." It seemed all the Peredhel saw were battles and death and they wore down his strength, the gift becoming a curse as he saw the darker times ahead without being able to walk freely in what sunlight they had left.

"We will be ready," Erestor said firmly. They had done nothing but prepare for the war they knew was coming even as they fought the existing one.

"Erestor!" Elrond jumped up, both of them turning to the window for a split second. Two scouts, one the valley guard and one in soiled armour had ridden in. Almost as one they rushed down to the courtyard, meeting the two scouts as they came up the steps.

"The company are returning," one of the scouts said. "There is a rear guard under the command of Glorfindel and the archers, the peloton is an hour behind us with many wounded." Elrond immediately turned towards the grooms standing ready.

"Prepare to ride out," he called to the chief healer. "Erestor, ready the infirmary." Elrond would ride out to meet and possibly save the guard riding towards them, offering them protection as they neared the valley whilst Erestor arranged the House to allow the wounded to be treated as quickly as possible. Glorfindel's leading of the rear guard did not surprise him, he only wished he could shake off the cloud that descended on his thoughts as he cleared the Hall of any errant elves, easily finding them tasks or simply telling them to get out of the way.

"My lords-" the scout continued just as they had turned away. "Captain Maethor is dead." The world seemed to fall away somewhat at that, the bustling courtyard froze and Erestor blinked.

"Who leads the peloton?" Elrond asked quietly.

"Isowen." Erestor flicked through a mental list of candidates and sucked in a breath. Cûinath would be leading her archers with Glorfindel in the rear guard, which left Hesten unaccounted for. Isowen was far down the ranks, too far to merit leadership.

"Grieve later," Elrond told him. "Open up the second wing." Erestor left the courtyard, blinking heavily. Maethor had never been a friend, he was the closest to a political rival Erestor could have had in such a small settlement.

"Open up the second wing," he ordered as he entered the infirmary, watching the healers scatter about their duties like well-ordered hens.

The scout found him whilst he was counting out rolls of bandages to be put out.

"They are here," she told him, her face pale. She had someone in the guard, someone she was waiting for as well. He summoned what confidence he could. With Isowen leading the peloton he had little need to worry for her, which relieved him somewhat. It also allowed his entire mind to focus on her brother who was still far behind in the mountains.

The healers had lined themselves up, almost in ranks and began to carry in the wounded straight from the horses that had carried them. Erestor had summoned the grooms as well who cleared the courtyard as more horses arrived. Sweat, blood and the stench of orc wafted through the courtyard.

"Erestor!" Isowen came up the steps, a prone figure in her arms. Erestor took a hold of their head, recognising Hesten's face beneath his hands. They were only one group among many who carried the wounded towards the infirmary.

The supper hall was quiet, mostly filled only with the guards who had returned unscathed and those who had no intention of letting them out of their sight. He was half glad to have missed the rush to extract a list of confirmed dead that would have taken place as soon as the peloton arrived. He had no appetite, it was only habit that made him wander into the dining hall at all. The groups he would have once sat with were diminished and quiet, or in some cases non-existent.

They were waiting and there was nothing he could do. He gave Elrond fresh bandages, carried water and made lists yet there was nothing he could do to bring the rear guard home.

"Sit," Nairn said wearily. He had retreated from the empty hall to his office only to find it occupied by the unofficial scout posted at his window. An hour of his pacing had worn even Nairn's patience thin.

"Is this to become a routine?" she asked him.

"Half of the guard getting waylaid in the hills? I hope not."

"You going out of your mind every time he leaves." Erestor stopped dead on his way to the chair. "There is no point in denying it." He stared at the papers on his desk, feeling the red warmth of embarrassment creep up his neck. It seemed Pengolodh never ceased to speak the truth and any sentiments he indulged served no purpose but to let him make a fool out of himself. Nairn's boots padded softly over to him and her face slowly dropped into view as she crouched down.

"He will come back, is that not the whole point?" Her smile jumped across to him and he lifted his head ever so slightly.

"You are over simplifying," he told her gently.

"And you over-complicate. Symmetry at its finest." She perched on the desk so that she hid the window from him and he had to look up to speak to her, seeing her satisfied smile from underneath.

"Does he know?" Erestor gave her a rebuking look at that.

"Do you think I would say anything?"

"You should learn to speak, Mellon nîn, there is no use in having friends if you lie to them." He turned his head to her sharply at that, seeing the hurt for the first time. Isowen and he had been less than open about their origins and now he saw that Nairn was not unaffected by that.

"We lost our protection when Idril left, far better to be of the house that was welcomed by Thingol than Fingolfin's folk."

"Pengolodh never hid," she murmured.

"Pengolodh was braver than I could ever be." And gave him the name Erestor, follower, for a reason. "It is easier not to have a tale to tell than have a past your friends skirt around." Nairn shook her head almost violently.

"Not if they then find that all these years they have been hurting you!" Her voice mellowed as she sighed. "We look back and see how many times you turned away from us, how many stories and songs must have hurt you. We did not know therefore we had no decorum. We never meant to hurt you." He managed a thin smile as her hand rested on his shoulder. Gently he took it.

"No reminder is as painful as the burn." They lapsed into silence, Nairn giving in to curiosity and swivelling around so that they could both look out.

"You are aware that he glows," she murmured after a while. "Is he aware of this?"

"I have told him, he appears to be in denial." It was a strain, to be light-hearted when the snow piled up on the tree and still the courtyard was empty.

"Erestor?" Isowen appeared at the door, her hair loose around her face as if she had just woken up. Without another word she sat by the fire place, silently building it up until it gave off a cheery light.

"A scout!" Nairn called, jumping up in a hurry, knocking over the neat piles of papers as she did so. She let Erestor stand at the glass, looking over his shoulder as Isowen butted in for a glance. Elrond was still busy with the wounded, it fell to him to find out what had become of the rear guard.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

He reached the courtyard just as the second wave of riders appeared on the bridge, following the scout more closely than was habitual.

"How many wounded?" Erestor called to the scout.

"A dozen." He nodded gravely, filling up the infirmary corridors in his mind, counting beds. They had room.

"Keep them out until we have moved the wounded," he told Nairn, gesturing to the relatives and friends who had begun to crowd around the courtyard. She and Isowen herded the onlookers back into the garden or the colonnade.

He let three go past first, carried by a mixture of returning guards and healers Erestor had gathered. The fourth he took himself, half supporting an archer who limped up.

"I thought you would wait for a brief," his charge murmured as they climbed the steps.

"Then fill me in on the way, friend," answered Erestor with a forced smile.

"Cûinath is with us. Glorfindel is yet to come." The last of the rear guard, as he always had been, making sure everyone else was safe. Erestor swallowed hard, stopping his thoughts there.

"Thank you." Elrond pushed a chair across the room in their direction and the archer sat down. "Rest it well, friend."

The new influx if casualties shepherded safely away, Nairn and Isowen had let the onlookers greet their loved ones. Erestor hovered beside Gilotor who was counting heads under his breath.

"One more group to come." The rear guard for the rear guard.

"How heavy?" he asked quietly. How heavy were their losses, how many had been left behind?

"Glorfindel will have to return with fifth fold that which Cûinath claims he has with him if we are to keep every heart intact." The snow swirled around them, dull and heavy. Not since Maethor took control of the garrison had they lost more than one or two on a patrol.

"Have you had time to investigate why this happened?" Gilotor murmured. They could not afford to lose so many again and if Glorfindel did not return and tell them the Orc host had been utterly destroyed it would be their first defeat since they came to the valley.

"Cûinath will report once Glorfindel arrives and Elrond is no longer needed in the infirmary." He wanted to put off laying blame, yet it was also the fear of a simpler explanation: that their forces were too small to match their enemy.

"There will be a vote, of course," continued Gilotor. "Hesten-" Something snapped sharply inside him. It was wrong to begin to name Maethor's successor before any memorial had been given.

"I know," he answered a little too curtly, surprising Gilotor.

"You grieve for him." The simple statement hung in the air, almost an accusation and Erestor considered it. He had disliked Maethor, as a reaction to the Sindar's obvious hatred of him. Yet Maethor was his last link to Oropher, away in the east. The last person who knew even part of his past besides Isowen. Losing him was as if an old scar was suddenly healed, after he had become somewhat fond of it.

"You have a kinder heart than most would."

"We dislike each other, we did not wish the other dead." Gilotor was silent for a moment then started like a rabbit.

"There, on the bridge!" Tired horses trotted over the stone bridge, their riders sagging on their backs. Erestor's eye swept over them until a single golden head caught and held it. Glorfindel rode in the middle of his company, their banners having been discarded. The horses did not so much halt as drift to a stop in complete disarray. Slowly, some with the need of help, their riders dismounted. Erestor met Asfaloth, rubbing the white horse's neck gently, ignoring the sweat that stuck to his hand.

"Are you hurt?" he asked Glorfindel. Wearily the blond elf shook his head. Erestor reached up a hand to help him down, surprised at how readily Glorfindel leaned on him. They paused, in Glorfindel's case for breath it seemed.

"Thank you, my friend." Asfaloth whined, nuzzling his rider's chest before a groom led him away. Glorfindel's arm remained slung over Erestor's shoulder, almost essential for keeping him upright and moving.

"Elrond is still busy with the wounded. Come and rest." There was no objection and they made their way slowly towards Glorfindel's room.

"You took your time." Isowen was smiling, just about as she jumped up from the floor where she had been waiting. "Are you alright?"

"Intact." She pushed her brother's door open and he sank into the nearest chair gratefully.

"Are you hungry?" asked Erestor, filling a cup from the sideboard to pass to him.

"Just tired. We passed bodies on the road." Isowen sighed as she took the seat opposite her brother.

"A tiny band, scouts most likely, we dealt with them. All but two of those you sent made it back."

"Hesten?"

"Is with the healers." There was little else Isowen could say. "Go to sleep, Glor. You will need it come morning." Gently she kissed his cheek and left them, closing the door softly on her way out.

"Come morning? Is there a reckoning to be had?" Glorfindel asked, his voice thin and strained.

"The guard will chose their captain tomorrow, or at least begin to discuss it. Then, yes, we will have to know how this happened. If we were too few-"

"We are too few. Far too few to have ridden out in such a fashion. The enemy is larger than we expected." Glorfindel rubbed his temples as if that would keep him awake longer. "I do not know much of the situation beyond our borders, but we cannot hold out against forces of that size for long." Fear laced the silence between them, almost tangible and all too present.

"I will go and fetch you supper," Erestor said quickly. "You are too tired to begin talking to the others now." He had a sinking feeling he knew what Isowen was planning and keeping her brother away from that for at least one night was no bad thing.

"How well did Pengolodh teach you?" Glorfindel asked just as he opened the door. Erestor froze.

"Badly. The Noldor knew nothing of command." With that he left to fetch a tray of food.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Glorfindel awoke with a start as a dull clank sounded beside his ear. It took him half a second to realise he was still in the armchair and had not made it to bed.

"Forgive me, I thought you had merely closed your eyes." Erestor straightened up from where he had put the tray down too loudly.

"That was all I intended." He scrambled into a more upright position. "Thank you." Erestor had brought soup and tea, steaming hot and with a buttered roll. After so long with nothing but dried bread and foraging to eat it smelled glorious.

"Elrond told me Hesten will recover," Erestor said quietly. "It seemed to me that you would sleep better knowing that." A small smile came at that news and he was glad. When he sent Isowen off with the peloton, alone into country they were not certain they had cleared his stomach had begun to tighten, only now that all those who would come back were safe did it relax and he could stretch out the cramped muscles.

"Your friend-" Glorfindel put his spoon down to face him. "The one who grew primroses. I am sorry, Mellon nîn." Erestor seemed to struggle against forming any sort of expression before he looked away quickly, wiping the wet streak away with his sleeve.

"Is it safe enough to retrieve the bodies?" Erestor asked him, his voice catching out of grief.

"Only those of the peloton when Isowen met the scouts. Those in the high passes we cannot reach without spending more lives." The image of the canyon filled with carcasses, elven and orcish caused waves to run through his gut and the soup tasted of bile.

Erestor kept his face turned away as Glorfindel ate. Their silence was only broken by the unconvincing cough that masked Erestor's quiet tears.

"Is there anything that will help?" asked Glorfindel softly, placing a hand on Erestor's shoulder. He half expected him to pull away, instead Erestor lay his head down on Glorfindel's arm.

"You should sleep." Glorfindel pushed his tray away, feeling queasy. He did not like the idea of leaving Erestor to grieve alone. "Fin, come morning you will not have a moment to yourself. You will have to answer to Elrond and Laiken to explain the disaster, before we even begin to find someone capable of assuming Maethor's role."

"Cûinath," he answered immediately. "Or Hesten."

"Has it never occurred to you that your name will be put forward as well?" It had, Isowen hinting at the edges and Erestor's insistence that he was prepared for the morning pointed towards it.

"I do not know the countryside," he said with unconvincing haste.

"You proved that you can overcome any disadvantage your recent arrival gives you." He stood, making Erestor raise his head quickly. The darker elf looked at him in shock as he stalked to the window. "Fin?"

"Do not ask me to take responsibility for a valley haven, not again. Too many times did I allow Turgon to hand me command and I never dared refuse it. The attack was my fault, my failures led to the Fall." He stopped, leaning his forehead against the cool stone of the window. "Too often did we give out command in place of honours, responsibility given due to blood not merit. Maeglin and I had no place at the table, we would have cleared it but not for our mothers' blood. What good has come for giving the Great, the Lords power?" When he turned all Erestor could offer was a helpless expression and he did not wait for empty consolation.

"I come here and see you, Laiken, Nairn, even Isowen grown great and deemed wise. You have earned it, hard won places at the council table or at the head of a column. If I had given a different name, if none knew who my uncle and cousins were, would you all be so ready to entrust me with your valley?"

"After your actions at the river and again in returning from the mountains, yes. We would now entrust you with our safety." Perhaps, he thought sourly, but then there are none now in Middle Earth save him who knew of his failings in Gondolin.

"You cannot be held accountable for Morgoth's actions, or Maeglin's." Erestor approached him cautiously, developing mind reading abilities suddenly. "Because of you there are survivors of Gondolin, because of you some escaped Eagles' Cleft."

"Because of me Morgoth's forces were allowed to approach," he half spat back, angry at himself not Erestor. "Because of me Maeglin came into being. Had I not lost Aredhel, Gondolin would not have fallen."

Erestor made some meaningless sound before placing a hand on Glorfindel's elbow.

"The defence of the city did not fall to you alone. Twelve Lords were charged with keeping us safe. I heard the self-same speech from Galdor, Tuor and Idril a hundred thousand times. All blamed themselves and absolved each other of guilt."

"And Egalmoth?" Glorfindel asked, then instantly regretted it. He did not wish to know that Egalmoth lay the blame at someone else's feet. In the passes after losing Aredhel Ecthelion had forced him to turn back, bearing Glorfindel who could not ride for his wounds. That too was Glorfindel's fault although Aredhel had long since forbidden him from voicing his guilt.

"I only heard Egalmoth speak once after the Fall. From the moment you fell he never said a word until he lay dying." Egalmoth had been quiet, but never silent before. Glorfindel wiped the unbidden tears from his eyes.

"What did he say?" he asked softly.

"He called out for Galdor, I did not hear his last words. I-" Erestor sighed and would have drawn away had Glorfindel not taken his hand.

"You were at Sirion." It was not a question, not truly but rather a realisation he made out loud.

"I took no part in the battle, not even in our defence. Pengolodh forbade me to, he risked his life to keep me from fighting. We have all failed in our duties at times, Fin. It does not mean we cannot redeem ourselves."

"Winmissë, you were-" He stopped, seeing how Erestor turned away at his own name. "Following Pengolodh's orders does not mean you failed your duties."

"As you say." The reply was curt. "You should rest, regardless of whether you intend to assume command or not." Erestor crossed the room in such haste it was as if he were fleeing.

"Why do you hate it so?" Glorfindel called to him before he could leave. He would have thought nothing could force someone to abandon the only name their parents gave them when they had lost so much else.

"It was the name of a boy, a lifetime ago, in another land. A boy whose heart and soul were ripped away. He was left in Gondolin so that someone else could live." Erestor refused to look at him as he continued. "All who loved him were gone, only Pengolodh remained. What else did I have but what he gave me? The dead have a lighter road, it would seem. They need not carry on." To that Glorfindel could say naught. "Sleep, Fin."

He broke apart the bread so that he was left with a plate of crumbs, perhaps slightly childish of him but he could not bring himself to eat anything.

He had not thought that any of Egalmoth's words would play upon his mind, they had been few and far between at the best of times but dry and full of wit when they were delivered. It seemed to be a notion that those who spoke seldom delivered great wisdom when they did, Egalmoth's sparse sentences had more often than not consisted of various insults and japes at Ecthelion and Glorfindel's expense. Yet it was what little he could remember out in the wilderness when searching for Aredhel that plagued him. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, crippled by pain and blood loss. Egalmoth, ever Aredhel's Captain, her protégé and confidant turned on Ecthelion with as close to rage as he had ever come. Furiously he had demanded that they continue searching for their Lady.

"He will live, but greater evil will be done if we abandon her," Glorfindel whispered to the empty room. Egalmoth had been right, he was alive and in leaving Aredhel in the wastes they had caused their city's fall. Had he been strong enough to convince Ecthelion he was not going to die, they would have continued to search for her.

"And you would have died in on a snow covered mountainside," Ecthelion had told him when he awoke in Gondolin a fortnight later, finally fully conscious. Curious, Glorfindel pulled up his tunic and twisted to see his back in the mirror. The scar was gone, the wound that had nearly claimed his life wiped away. Few elven scars refused to heal, he had blamed the cold that had seeped in along with filth Ecthelion had been unable to wash out in the mountains. He sighed, almost wishing it back as a mark of his part in Maeglin's coming.

With considerable effort he changed out of his sweat stained clothes and scrubbed himself with steaming water in the tub. It was only when he at last came to climb into bed that he hesitated. The merest mention of Gondolin during the day was enough to cause the more severe nightmares, although barely a night went by when he did not have an unpleasant dream. He wished he could count on exhaustion to rid his mind of demons. Deciding that the hour or so of rest he could gain before having to endure his own sleeping imagination would be better than the stiff neck he would have from sitting awake all night, Glorfindel lay down with a lead weight in his stomach. Anticipation, or rather dread filled the space where the crumbled roll should have been and it took him a long time to fall asleep.

The pain in his chest was dull, barely noticeable compared to the roaring in his ears. There was something in front of him, a raging beast that shook him and pulled at him. It ignored his protests and warmth spread from his chest where the creature was holding him. Then it was gone and a warm hand was on his brow, comforting. There was something wrong with that, nothing could comfort him in that place.

"Yes, I am here. I am here, dear one." It was Aredhel's voice, far gentler than he remembered. For all she loved him as her brother's nephew she would never have called him dear. Soothing and kindness were out of place in one of his dreams. He recognised the room as the one he had awoken in facing Vairë in the Halls of Mandos. "Careful, do not rush. I will not let go." An arm closed around his waist, holding him even as he seemed to leave, looking at the room from the doorway. Instead two dark haired figures were clutching at each other, the one in the bed shaking violently but he could not see their faces.

"Look not to either side," a woman whispered in his ear.

"Turgon," Aredhel's voice continued. "Duilin. Rog. Penlod. Maltion."

"Stop," he tried to tell her, the warm imprint of her hand turning to a flame that engulfed his head. "Please."

"Mother. Edwengwend. Salgant. Ahanion. Aranwë." He was falling as the names continued, the fire enveloping him and he screamed as he burned.

"Winmissë," the voice said. He slammed into the ground and he felt his neck snapped.

There was not a sound in the room save his laboured breathing. He sucked in the cool air, scrambling out of bed to reach the basin. The water hit his face and washed the sheen of sweat away but did not cool him down. He still could not control his breathing as he dried his face and neck.

Outside the valley was covered in the grey sheen of predawn and mist from the waterfall. The earliest risers would be stirring within the hour and Glorfindel counted himself lucky to have managed the majority of the night. He rubbed his neck but failed to rid it of the sickening sensation that accompanied his memories of hitting the ground.

He dressed for training, knowing it was a vain hope to be overlooked if he did not dress the part of lord or captain. The soup had separated and the bread was hard from exposure. He took the tray and headed for the kitchens. There were sounds of awakening behind a handful of the doors he passed, in room one a child began to cry to be let out of its cradle.

A solitary cook was wandering almost aimlessly around, a ball of dough sitting on the counter waiting to be kneaded. He watched with wide walnut eyes as Glorfindel cleaned his dishes and put them away self-consciously.

"My daughter did not come back," the cook said after a while in a voice that tore at Glorfindel's heart.

"I am sorry," he half whispered. "Is-"

"Her sister did and is sleeping peacefully in her room, with nothing but exhaustion and ribs to show for it." He took the dough and began to fold it vigorously. "You will tell Elrond what mistakes were made and you will always bring her back." Glorfindel simply stood there, staring at him. After a moment the cook abandoned his dough. "Sit." A stool was kicked forward and Glorfindel took it.

"I do not want your apologies," he said roughly as Glorfindel cleared his throat to speak. "I want you to do better. They say you are a hero from a bygone age. To hear my daughter I would believe it. Yet here you are, pale and haunted." Glorfindel wiped his face as if that could hide his troubled night. "We do not need heroes here. We need our children safely back in their beds." Once again he had begun to knead the dough, the sound of it echoing through the kitchen.

"Will you tell me who is to blame?" the cook asked at last.

"The Enemy." He received a seething glare and continued swiftly. "And a guard too ready to give a pitched battle."

"As the heroes of old did," the cook spat. Glorfindel could do nothing but nod sadly. "And you? Do you care for pitched battles that kill our daughters?"

"I would rather have a keep to defend," he answered. It was not his strength, he could manage an army in the field far better without walls or buildings to worry about. Yet it was the security that the defensive position gave them that he preferred. Perhaps it was simply habit, for he had done nothing but defend a valley. Only when they marched to Angband did he command in the field.

"Then you will bring them home." The cook seemed as satisfied as he could be.

"Do not mistake me, I do not want the command. There are others better suited than a stranger."

"I would not give it to you if the choice was mine," said the cook. "All that is told of you is your death. We do not need a Captain such as that." Glorfindel deemed it time he left, the bread was being pounded beyond what he expected to be adequate. He would leave the cook alone to his grief.

"What was her name? Your daughter," he asked suddenly, turning back. He thought to try and learn as many of the names of the fallen as possible.

"Adelaes." He did not know her, he felt as if he should.

"And her sister?"

"Cûinath." The cook ignored his look of surprise, slapping the dough onto the counter. Glorfindel closed the door quietly. If Cûinath had known of her sister's death she had not shown any grief as they returned to Imladris. It did not please him to know she spoke highly of him. He would readily have taken the blame for Maethor's mistakes if it meant the Seneschal was honoured in death and he was passed over as his replacement.

"Glorfindel!" Gilotor's voice rang out, overly loud. "Come, Elrond wishes to see you before the day begins fully." There was something in his air that suggested neither Gilotor nor his master had slept that night, the new day merely an extension of the last.

"How is Hesten?" Gilotor smiled, filling his face with mouth it seemed.

"Awake, sour and asking for you. Keep neither him not Elrond waiting, for all our sakes."

… …

**I won't go on with excuses and reasons for my prolonged absence. I apologise. Stuff happened. Hopefully now I will be back for good (I swear I really mean it this time). Thank you all for bearing with me.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three**

The infirmary stretched out and curved around the outside of the second floor, large airy windows ran along the wall, overlooking the river. It would have been peaceful had they not been open to the roar of the waterfall directly outside. Glorfindel found the noise comforting after the silence that crept through the valley as the dead were counted.

Hesten was one of the few sitting up, looking around impatiently. His face, an unsightly grey sheen rather than cheerful brown as usual lit up somewhat as Glorfindel and Gilotor approached.

"You look worse than I do, and I have been staring at my reflection in the window since midnight." Glorfindel sat beside him on the chair that each bed had assigned to it. The beds were wide and deep, white sheets and brown covers made them uniform but cosy.

"I shall have to ask them to discharge you, you appear to have quite recovered your sense of humour." Hesten raised a hand to touch his face and Glorfindel held it to his cheek gently. It was warm if a little shaky and gladly received.

"You cannot get rid of me that easily. I will be here to cause you headaches for a while yet." He smiled and would happily have taken all the teasing in the world to keep Hesten with him.

"What happens now?" Glorfindel asked eventually, looking around for Elrond. He was still busy at another bed, changing dark stained bandages with a grim face.

"There is not exactly much precedent for this situation. Maethor was our second Captain of the Guard. That can hardly tell us what is average." Hesten began to pick at the wrappings around his wound until he had his hands taken firmly away to be held by Glorfindel. "Stop fussing over me."

"Then stop being a nuisance." A soft weary chuckle came from behind them and they turned to find Elrond and Gilotor watching them with amused expressions. Elrond's fell away first.

"We need an explanation for this," he said sadly. "To console the bereaved and keep this from happening again. Our numbers should have been sufficient."

"Those mountains are crawling with orcs," Hesten answered. "An army."

"They were more than mere war bands," Cûinath agreed, materialising out of nowhere. She wore a sombre expression and did not seem to have benefitted much from sleep. Glorfindel could see her father's face in hers, a mirror image but harder than the cook's.

"No army could hope to reach the valley," she continued. "So they cut us to pieces when we venture out."

"Or they are massing for some other purpose," murmured Gilotor. "Another attack on Eregion?"

"I do not see how the mountains can sustain them for much longer. They must have a lowland place from which they are spawning." Cûinath had begun to pace slowly between Hesten's bed and the next as she spoke.

"Underestimation of the enemy was not the only mistake we made," Hesten added. "We abandoned the only defensible position in favour of a pitched battle in the passes."

It took a long time for everyone to look uncomfortably at each of the others. Eventually Glorfindel felt Elrond's strong gaze on him. It was Turgon's stare, even if his face was more that of Eärendil or Tuor. Glorfindel found he could not hold it.

"Laiken is gathering the votes," Elrond said at last. "By midday all should be awake and able to choose." Hesten shot a grin in Glorfindel's direction. "I you will excuse me." Elrond left them to tend to a blond ellon in the process of waking disorientated up with his neck braced.

"Fate plays a cruel hand," Cûinath murmured as she turned on her heel by Hesten's head. As a general observation Glorfindel agreed with her, however he looked up quizzically for the exact reasoning behind her remark. "Pay me no heed, I listen at keyholes." With that she went out on silent feet, seeming to vanish before she had reached the door as she slipped between the healers.

"Her sister is dead," Glorfindel told Hesten after a moment.

"She is an eavesdropper, a spider we used to call her when we were children. Always climbing into places and half hearing ominous words. Ignorance is bliss, a little knowledge is terrifying." Hesten lay back and closed his eyes. "You are welcome to hide here until your sister drags you out." It hurt Glorfindel that he no longer knew how likely his sister was to do that. The most he ever remembered her doing was dragging him into her cushion fort.

"I do not want to," he said at last. "I do not want the position."

"Then say so." Hesten shrugged dismissively. "You could drown us all if you put your mind to it, no one here can force you to do anything."

That was a novel idea. To not have to do follow orders. For a moment he liked the feeling before he decided it terrified him. He had only once made a choice completely free from instruction and following Turgon had gotten himself and most of his family killed.

"Are you awake?" asked Laiken. "And able to cast a vote?" Hesten pushed himself up a little, grinning.

"I am in possession of what little intelligence I have ever had. Do you want me to write it down or are you ticking names?" Laiken handed them both scraps of paper. Democracy had never made its way out of the guard and into the lords.

Glorfindel paused for a moment, looking at Hesten. The dark elf had given back his paper within seconds. Somehow he could not put the same faith in him as in Ecthelion or Duilin, both jokers but more trustworthy. That left Cûinath or Isowen.

"Hannon le." Laiken walked off with their votes.

Glorfindel stayed put, listening to the infirmary and the rest of the house waking up. From the training ground a soft bell tolled for the horses to be watered, rousing the last of the grooms and somewhere a blackbird began to sing.

"May I suggest you left, Glorfindel?" Elrond said gently. Hesten's eyes flickered open and he winced. "The more you rest," he added to Hesten. "The quicker you will be up."

"I did barely sleep with half my leg missing, you shall have to go out and report back in a few hours what is going on. Tell me who to bow to." Glorfindel stood, fussing with the pillow for a moment to annoy him. Whether Elrond was naturally positive around his patients he had yet to see but he took comfort in the overall lack of gloom around concerning Hesten's leg. It would be salvageable at the least. He took his leave of them, hesitantly venturing back into the main house.

He had barely made it halfway to the Hall of Fire before Isowen cornered him.

"Have you cast your vote?" she asked, linking her arm in his. He nodded as she steered him towards the gardens. "Good. There was a time when we voted on everything, when the world first sank. Then we settled on Ereinion as King. Things are easier this way."

"For each to have their say seems a better system than entrusting untested heirs to rule." She laughed quietly at him. "It is true! Had our people chosen a leader from any among us perhaps things would not have turned so sharply for the worse."

"Be careful, Glor. Revolutionary ideas only upset people." She stopped to smell the bluebells. "Do you remember my flower? The last one that grew before the wastes? It survived the ice, warm in my pocket. It did not survive the fire." She moved away from the flowers suddenly. "Do you suppose Maltion still looks like me?" It caught him off guard. Of course he dwelled upon his brother, yet Maltion was firmly shut in the same place as Ecthelion and the Isowen he knew.

"I would imagine so. Perhaps only slightly different, you have father's nose whilst he had mother's." She had led them towards the well-kept woods by the river, melting into the bark in her brown tunic. He wondered if he could keep track of her were they playing at woodcraft.

"We will have grown up separately, so different. Even you used to find telling us apart difficult. I did not think about it so much before you came." Her words dug deep. He was the constant reminder of an old scar. "Perhaps he has not grown to maturity. You do not appear changed, not in age." A Man would say youth never left the Eldar yet they could tell among themselves who had seen more passing winters. Sometimes it mattered, often it did not. For Glorfindel he could see each one in his sister's eyes and yet when he looked into the mirror he saw only as many as the last night in Gondolin.

"Where is Erestor?" Glorfindel asked to avoid having to answer her philosophical and disheartening questions further. From Isowen there was a steely silence and hard amber eyes glared at him.

"Of course." She turned on her heel, snapping into a course that led her away from him so quickly he barely had time to think. Bemused he stared after her until a caterpillar dropped onto him and he had to find it a new home under a leaf.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Four**

The barracks in Gondolin had been a long red marble hall, columns stretching up to the ceiling that had been painted to mirror the midsummer night sky. In Imladris it was round, curving around the side of the river with delicate arches and alcoves on either side housing bunks or benches. He still could hardly believe it was functional.

It was also full, bursting with every member of the guard and affiliated relations or friends. All standing in near silence, only the faint whispering of curious minds asking opinions. Cûinath stood on the stairs leading up to a balcony where the armoury kept smaller items in storage. Next to her Laiken was fussing with papers. Conspicuous by their absence neither Elrond not Erestor had appeared, Nairn hovering at the back.

It was to her that Glorfindel went first, having left a surly Hesten in bed earlier that afternoon.

"Does Elrond not need to be present to name his new captain?" he asked her.

"The guard retains autonomy. The founding force came partly under Elrond, partly under Lord Celeborn. The Sindar require it is kept separate." She spoke in whispers, so quiet he had trouble hearing over the sound of many others doing the same.

Laiken straightened suddenly as the whispers died down. Glorfindel looked around at his comrades, wondering if they had the good sense not to trust him.

"We have chosen our captain," he said boldly. There was half a second of pause for emphasis. "Isowen." Several heads turned sharply towards Glorfindel, most in shock. Inwardly he let out a breath of relief that he had not been the only one who saw the most obvious answer. Isowen climbed half the steps and turned to her guard.

"Look to the future," she told them. "The past may lie remembered yet do not let is haunt us." Then Cûinath was whispering to her and the conversation in the hall struck up again with a vengeance.

"I must say, I am surprised," Nairn murmured. "You appear, content?"

"Relieved." Laiken approached them, their new captain in tow. Glorfindel gave his sister a bright smile. He did resist the urge to salute her for fear of seeming to mock.

"I suppose you are happy now, you can sit back and watch me make mistakes then be praised when you clear them up." Isowen turned on him with a furious glare. It was not deserved, he felt for he had done little. One vote hardly made the difference when the guard was a reasonable size. "You really have him wrapped around your finger." He was at a loss for why he was the victim of her temper.

"Leave him be," Nairn ordered. Her voice was sharp although it stayed as quiet as ever. "Elrond should be informed."

"Then by all means inform him." Laiken visibly backed away from them, his eye contact pulled Glorfindel away as well. It was Isowen who turned first, somehow ending up with the other two flanking her. The sound of Nairn closing the door signalled the end of all other conversation. The guard stared at them. Turgon's folk had included some Sindar, although they had been few and far between. Now Glorfindel was faced with a room predominantly Sindar who had for some reason elected a Noldo as their Captain. However Isowen had accomplished something he never could: she had been chosen for her skill and her friends' faith in her, not for name or blood. Those things worked against her with many there still unaware of who she was. All they saw was another Noldo.

Glorfindel remembered his promise to tell Hesten and as his sister moved away he followed Nairn's example and slipped out of the barracks to inform others.

He was disappointed to find Hesten asleep, as he was soon informed the pain relief often knocked people unconscious for short periods of time. It was just as well, Glorfindel could see the wounds now that the initial bandages were being removed. It was a wonder that Hesten still had his leg.

Or rather, most of it. There was an unpleasant black and red mass at the bottom of his limb still wrapped securely.

"It will have to be replaced with wood," a soft voice said from the next bed. All Glorfindel could see of the healer was a dark neck and even darker hair in a corkscrew as they leaned over the sheets they were changing. "It is a shame, but many manage." There was something cold about the healers voice, matter of fact and brusque. They collected up the sheets and moved on to the next bed with the efficiency of a tired sword master conserving movement.

No one else came to Hesten's bedside as he sat there for a long while, waiting for his friend to wake up. Glorfindel did wonder but had not asked. Not when he knew nothing of the past the inhabitants of Imladris had gone through.

"I am supposing..." Hesten's sleep filled voice muttered. "That... Since you are not busy..."

"They chose Isowen." Hesten's mouth opened into a neat circle and he stopped trying to rouse himself.

"I had Cûinath pinned as our captain, but then no one likes archers, or spiders." With one brown eye open, his head cocked slightly to the side Hesten watched him for a moment. "Stop fidgeting and say something."

Glorfindel shrugged, making an effort to sit still. There were battles, wars he had never heard of, doubtless Círdan's quick history lesson and a few conversations with Isowen had not filled him in on everything.

"No one came to sit with you," he said at last.

"You did." Hesten gave him a weak grin. "Ah, you have not yet discovered my fatal flaw: I am impossible to like. Now you naturally cannot see this yet, as naive and angelic as you are but once you look beyond your little halo you will see. No one likes me, save perhaps our little spider but that is more in the way you grow to like an old ugly vase you cannot shift." He did not stop to allow Glorfindel to disagree. "Somewhere, there are three generations of my line all living happily in Lindon, placidly serving a king. We survive remarkably well, although I do appear to be missing something now they have stopped drugging me. Not that it matters, I shall fit in with a good portion of the other guards now. I never cared much for my foot to be honest." There was spite and anger in the way his mouth twisted, pain in his voice. Hesten refused to look down at his leg. "You are good, to sit here when you have, certain others who would gladly spend time with you." Then a weak laugh came from him. "And now you will come all the more because you feel sorry for me."

"Not at- well, perhaps." They managed a shared chuckle. "I am not going to let you lie here alone." Hesten's hand slipped out from under the blanket and tapped his fist until it opened.

"Yet you shall leave as soon as I can sit up?"

"Something like that," Glorfindel answered fondly.


End file.
